


Snow On The Bluff

by WesternScribe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fire, Madness, Plague, Rating will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WesternScribe/pseuds/WesternScribe
Summary: In which, Brienne tries her best to keep all she swore, and gains a little more than she bargained for. Jamie finally honors his father's wishes, in his own way. Cersei rights every wrong. And Tyrion choreographs an excellent dance for dragons. You can't forfeit the game once you've begun.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 24
Kudos: 58





	1. Brienne I

**Author's Note:**

> Wherein it’s best to tie loose ends.

"I am no longer a maid." 

Brienne said the words so softly; they very well may have been a breath. She heard Jaime snort from above her, as his palm lightly rubbed circles across her buttocks. She rose from his chest and looked up, at his face. Everything should have changed. She thought there would be some moment of clarity once she had given herself away, given herself to him. Wasn't that what happened in all the stories and songs, when ladies were wooed into love by knights? 

_Love._

Brienne's breath hitched a fraction as she realized. She was in love with him. She doesn't know when it happened or where it started. Mayhaps when he entrusted a magic sword and quest to her, or during her long days of reflection upon said quest. Definitely by the time she saw him in his camp. When she was wounded and half mad with desperation to save Pod and Ser Hyle. _He could have died from my stupid plan..._

Perhaps her moment was different because she wasn't a lady, not really. Perchance it differed due to her fashioning herself a knight. Do knights fall in love with each other? 

He still looked the same: white skin somehow slightly golden; silken curly hair spun from sunlight; face strong, angular and sublime even under his mustache and beard; his perfect facial hair that blended together and made his beauty take on a new quality. He looked rugged this way; rough and strong, with sharp edges and unpredictability. He was a soldier here; a commander, leading droves of men to bloodshed. A lion shepherding lambs, as he'd said. 

Natheless, his eyes were a bit changed. Somehow. There was a type of resolve in them, amongst the excitement, betwixt the satisfaction and amusement. Some life altering, soul morphing thing, happened to him during their separation. The eagerness, the all consuming need he held behind his gaze when they met was gone. He seemed older now. 

Jaime watched her closely; his eyes half lidded, though full of mirth. 

"It would appear so."

That was a fortnight past. He kissed her afterward and her head lay upon his chest while her fingers played lazily with the golden wisps of hair there. That night was magical, like her sword, like so many things were when it came to Jaime, and it seemed to last both an eternity and only but an instant. Brienne knew by the end of it that her realization, her epiphany, was something that should scare her. She was in love with him, hopelessly so. It was the first time she admitted it to herself, after avoiding the word for so long. Brienne knew it was dangerous to love him. Two people would have died because of her hesitance...but Jaime would be dead if she acted as her lady had commanded. And a world without Jaime seemed impossible to Brienne.

"Left or right? My lady, ser." 

Podrick's question brought Brienne to the fork ahead of them. She, her squire Podrick Payne, Ser Hyle Hunt, and Lady Sansa Stark were at a crossroads. They left Ser Jaime that morning. He and his army of men were heading back to the capital and their king. He was a man of his Kingsguard, Lord Commander even, and so he very well couldn't accompany them on their quest further. And yet, Brienne kept hearing an old thought _. Would that Jamie had come with me..._

"How about we go right, Pod." Brienne prodded her horse in that direction and looked reassuringly as she met Podrick's eyes. He nodded and nudged his horse forth. 

They were headed to the Wall. News of Lady Sansa's brother being Lord Commander of the Night's Watch reached the Erie a while before they broke in and snatched her from Littlefinger's claws. Jon Snow was as good a man as any, Brienne supposed. She heard tell of their late father from her own father a few times in her life, and every time Lord Selwyn spoke of the Warden of the North, it was with such reverence that Brienne couldn't help but respect him. Jon Snow was supposed to be liken his father in that regard. An honorable man. A faint stream of water in the drought of everyone's recent life. And Lady Sansa was determined to see him. 

Mayhaps he could even be trustworthy and reliable enough to shelter and protect the lady while she went in search of Lady Arya, wherever that may be. She turned her head to look at the younger girl. Lady Sansa had avoided Brienne's eyes ever since Ser Jaime kissed her at his camp, in front of his pavilion, in full view of everyone surrounding them. She felt her cheeks flush slightly, thinking of it. 

Ser Hyle caught Brienne's eye instead. "You ever been north?" 

"I have not." After a moment, "Have you?" 

He shrugged. "Not so far north as the Wall, but north yes. Far colder up there than anything we've got in the Stormlands. Best acquire some more furs." 

He was right. They needed more suitable clothing before they reached the Twins. Snow lightly dusted their surroundings for a little over a moon. Winter was here and she knew it would be a cold one. 

"Where'd you suggest we get coats, ser?" 

He smirked but his eyes were sad. "There's a town not far off. Mayhaps we take a gander there. Stop the night. Kingslayer's soldiers told me it's still a lively place."

"Alright then. You hear that," Brienne looked back to her two younger companions, "we sleep on feather beds tonight."

Lady Sansa's eyes stayed fixed on the trees they trotted past. She seemed unimpressed. Podrick beamed. 

They reached the town, Crone's Grove, just before dusk. Remnants of the sinking sun clawed crimson streaks across the sky. The contrast was vibrant against the deep purple and blues of the encompassing darkness, and Brienne couldn't help but think of wolves. She heard one howl the night before. Did they know she was bringing their lady home? A silly thought she didn't care to ask. 

Crone's Grove's market still bustled with few peddlers as they approached. Their wears lay upon the ground, atop dirty brown sacks and Brienne thought it was almost too good to be true. How could this be with the land torn by war? 

Brienne dismounted from her horse as soon as Lady Sansa did. Although, the hood of her cloak concealed her face, she walked along the market with her head held high; stopping before a man selling knives and daggers. 

"Gracious eve, friends," he began, "what might I offer you this night?" 

"How much for that?" Lady Sansa pointed to a dirk behind the man's back. It had a silver pommel and a black and silver scabbard. Brienne thought it would be a good weapon for the lady. _Her words from this forenoon are true. She is indeed eager to learn to defend herself._

"Why that isn't for sale. Can I offer you one of these daggers? They're made from the finest steel in Volantis." 

Ser Hyle rolled his eyes. "Sure they are. She said she wants the dirk. Don't display what you don't want to sell." 

Brienne noticed Pod behind them. He held their horses’ reins as he watched the transaction. The seller bristled. He was a small man, with a nose like a broad bladed knife, and beady eyes. His teeth were yellow behind thin, chapped lips, and a dirty graying beard.

"I said it's not for sale." 

"Very well-" Brienne began but was interrupted by the lady. 

"Name your price." Her gaze stone-like as she stared down at the man. He cowed after a moment. 

Looking around, much as a weasel, he scrubbed the side of his face with his fist. 

"A gold dragon. And no telling no one you got it from me. Wanna keep my head." 

Brienne paid him, Lady Sansa took her weapon, and they made their way to the inn at the edge of the town. The Crone's Lantern was unmarred by fire and war, like the rest of the village. It was a sizeable establishment but not overly large for an inn. The outside wood was painted yellow like a candle's flame and peeled in certain places, as the aged wood began to crack. 

Podrick and Ser Hyle took the horses to the stables, while Brienne and the lady went inside to buy rooms and food. The innkeeper, a white haired man, though middle in age, stood behind a long table, pouring cups of ale. 

"Aye?" He asked as they approached. 

"We require lodgings for the night. Have you rooms available?" 

"Aye, good man. I do. Just the one then? For yourself and the lady?" 

Brienne sighed and cleared her throat. She spoke louder with her reply. "Two if you have them." 

The innkeep looked up and huffed a chuckle. "Gods be good. You're a woman." Brienne's expression tightened at his jest. "No offense given, m'lady." He quickly added. "I've the two rooms." 

"And four bowls of that stew as well. Some ale and bread if you've any to spare." 

"Aye, aye. Two dragons is the cost." Two dragons were indeed steep for the service. She could hear what Ser Jaime would say _. He's robbing you blind, wench. You're sure to run dry of the coin I gave you before the next moon's turn._

"Two dragons it is then." 

Three other patrons supped while Brienne and her companions did. The wooden tables of the inn's tap room were spaced apart wide enough so each table held some degree of privacy. Pod and Ser Hyle joined them just as their meal came from the kitchen. The innkeep's wife, a busty woman with brown hair, blue eyes, and more freckles than Brienne, brought them brown stew with chunks of meat and potatoes, hard, brown bread, and watery ale. The ale was hot and it warmed Brienne's body as much as the stew did. 

Hunt finished his food and drink before any of them. He belched loudly and sighed, settling his back against his chair. "You know how to use that blade you had to have?" 

Lady Sansa's eyes stayed upon her bowl. "Brienne will teach me." 

"Figures as much." He said with a snort. "She'll teach you well enough not to get killed." 

The innkeep's wife refilled Ser Hyle's cup and brought him more bread as Podrick and the lady finished their food in tandem. Lady Sansa rose from her chair and brushed the bread crumbs from her cloak. Brienne rose as well. She placed a hand upon the vambrace of Brienne's left arm, and the lady met her gaze, for the first time all day. 

"It's fine, Brienne," she said in answer to Brienne's bemusement. "Podrick's hands are capable enough. I merely wish to relax by the hearth alone."

Brienne wanted to protest, but the stare the lady fixed her with reminded her of the Lady Catelyn. Her lady mother wore the same look when she told her to meet her at midnight in the dungeons of Riverrun. She looked determined, agitated but not angry, just determined.

Pod stood from his chair then. He nodded eagerly once Brienne looked in his direction. Together, they made their way across the room and disappeared up the stairs. Ser Hyle chuckled once she retook her seat. She looked at him, eyebrows drawn together. 

"What?" She asked. 

"Ah." He said as he shook his head before drinking a gulp of his ale. "I think our Podrick's smitten." 

"Smitten?" Brienne felt a small smile grace her lips. It didn't go unnoticed. 

"Aye. Doesn't help with her leading him round by the nose either." He quaffed more drink and tore a piece of the bread. 

Smitten. Brienne could only hope Pod's heart didn't break too much when the lady married some high lord. She could still remember her own heartache when King Renly wed Margaery Tyrell. She cried bitter, hopeless tears throughout the night. Although the pain of that marriage didn't seem to hurt anymore. Nearly all her pain dissipated when Jaime sent her flying. 

She wondered how Lady Sansa felt. Pod was the only person she seemed to trust initially. Brienne earned some semblance of it until Jaime's kiss _. Perhaps the lady is taken with Podrick because of their shared time in King's Landing. They were both with the Imp..._

"So," Ser Hyle began, "what is your plan once we reach the Wall?" 

"We'll find the lady's brother and reunite them." 

"I've come to that conclusion myself, Brienne. What are we to do after we unite the Starks? She should be safe enough with her brother. As safe as anyone, I reckon." 

Brienne knew where his words lead before he spoke. They hadn't discussed what they would do after the Wall and Jon Snow yet. Ser Hyle Hunt wanted nothing more than to take Brienne home to her lord father and marry Tarth, she knew, but that wasn't a desire of Brienne's. There was still the Lady Arya to consider and the girls couldn't very well live at the Wall with the men of the Night's Watch. That was something Brienne hadn't decided upon yet. They would want to stay north, but their ancestral home was lost...

She wasn't sure what to do. 

Hunt cleared his throat. She had been silent for too long. "I swore an oath to keep her safe." Clasping her hands together upon the table, she ignored Ser Hyle's exasperated smile and continued. "And I won't relinquish that oath to Jon Snow just because he's the lady's brother." 

Brienne fixed him with a glare until he rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "Your oath is going to get you killed." 

"I haven't died yet." Brienne huffed. 

"Aye," he said with a laugh, "and we've faired so well in contrast." 

Brienne took another swig of her ale. Her cup was nearly empty. "You're welcome to abandon our group whenever you see fit, ser. I will not leave her until she is no longer in need of my service." 

"Spoken such as a true knight, my lady." He smiled broadly and his cleft chin flattened against it. "At any rate, in the instance you do find good sense, my offer still stands." 

"Ser-" 

Hunt held his hand up and spoke quickly. "Please, my lady, I implore you. We can go south, return to the Stormlands. I may not be the lord of some grand house, but we can be a smart match. I'm sure your lord father will agree." She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Seven hells, Brienne I'll allow you to keep your sword and armor. You can prance off and fight in as many tourneys as you'd like." 

"Ser." She said again. _He couldn't be serious._

He pressed on. "I'll even knight the boy once he comes of age. He can serve as captain of our house guard in time. It'll be a good life for a good lad." She was frowning now and Ser Hyle's tone lost its pleading edge. He sighed and finished bitterly. "Well, it's far better than freezing to death in the north."

Brienne sniffed and crossed her arms about her chest. "I swore an oath, ser. And I intend to keep it. Lady Sansa hasn't seen her brother in years, he can be a changed man, and then there's the Lady Arya. I have to find her safe as well."

Ser Hyle drank another cup of ale before he spoke again. "Safe." He repeated, nodding. "It would best suit you to hurry south as fast as the Gods will allow. I remember the last winter well. The snows were thick and there were entire moons I couldn't get warm, even in the south. Imagine how hard the weather will be up north. Can you, my lady? Have you even breathed a winter? Were you not born in spring?"

Brienne narrowed her eyes. She was born at the end of the last winter, a year before the false spring, or so they call it. She was a child of warm days and summer songs. Yet and still, the cold did not frighten her. 

"From the way the snow's building, we'll be fighting blocks of ice as well as bandits." His eyes softened then. "It'll be warm down south, and I promise you my lady, I can keep you warm as summer on the way there." 

Brienne heard enough. Their words would keep circling his proposal if she didn't leave now. 

"As I've said before, ser. You can leave whenever you wish."

She left Hunt to grumble into his cups. He was a stubborn man. Why couldn't he accept no for an answer? When, if she returned home, to her lord father, to Tarth, and perhaps the proposals, Brienne would never take Ser Hyle Hunt as a husband. That bet, those men, her naivety, they all broke a piece of her. It was hard to fix. And it seemed Brienne was naught but broken pieces. 

The door to her room opened with a groan. There was too much wood: wooden walls, wooden floors, wooden table and chair. The hearth and window glass were the only reprieve. Lady Sansa lay sound asleep upon the bed closest the window. When she walked into the room Pod's head snapped up. Brienne smiled small and close lipped, as the boy stood. He stretched liken a cat. He grew taller every day. The beginnings of stubble were upon his chin and cheeks. He was becoming a man before her very eyes. The sight made her chest ache. _He could have died from my stupid plan..._

"My lady, ser." Pod said with a nod. "Are you preparing for bed?" 

"I am." Brienne answered as she placed Oathkeeper upon the table. 

"Shall I help remove your armor?" His speech improved greatly in the recent weeks. He hadn't spoken for nearly a fortnight after they escaped Lady Stoneheart, but afterward, the words he spoke were measured and more confident. She wondered how it came to be. 

"Yes, please. Thank you Pod." 

"No hassle, my lady." 

They detached her armor in silence. Pod yawned occasionally, causing Brienne to fight the urge to send him to bed and leave her finish the task. Once she was free of steel and mail, Pod was more alert. He grabbed her armor and headed to his room to polish it. Brienne stopped him at the door. 

"Thank you, Pod. You're the best squire any knight could hope for." 

His ears turned red and he blushed slightly. "Th-thank you, ser, I mean, my lady, ser." He smiled small and looked at the ground. 

Brienne smiled too. Wider than normal this time. "Dream well, Pod." 

"You too, my lady." 

_I am not a knight, but Podrick is as loyal as any squire could be_. Brienne was lucky he followed her. She could have gotten him killed. The thought was always a knife to her heart. 

Brienne disrobed and heated a bucket of water in the pot above the hearth. The cold gave her a start as she stood in her small clothes. When the water warmed, she poured it into the basin on the table and cleansed herself of the day. Once she'd finished, she tried to wash the dirt and grime from her tunic and trousers. She laid the clothing on the floor before the fire to dry.

Brienne grabbed Oathkeeper from the table and set upon her small bed. The mattress was made of straw, not feathers. It smelled faintly of mold, as everything had in the room, and it made her skin itch just a little. Her small clothes were not much protection against her imagination and the dust. She removed Oathkeeper from its scabbard, balanced it across her lap, and took out the tin of oil she got from Ser Jaime's squire, Peck. He was a kind lad, with a warm smile, and they were nearly of an age, though he fell somewhere between herself and Lady Sansa. Brienne doused a cloth with the oil, enough for the steel to drink and shine with, and polished the rippling blade. 

When she finished, she placed it back in its sheath, and buffed the golden pommel. The lion was as fierce and defiant as it had been when first she saw it. Her right thumb traced the outline of ruby eyes, dipped down along the nose, and gingerly brushed the long fangs at the mouth. She rubbed the pad of her thumb against the sharp edge of the tooth. It was beautifully sharp. Brienne applied the slightest amount of pressure and the metal pierced the skin, causing blood to flow, crimson against the gold _. Lannister colours for a Lannister sword. No, not a Lannister sword._

_...I have never seen such colors...Nor I...it would please me if you would call this one Oathkeeper...Lannisters lie...Oathkeeper..._

Jaime was so upset with her. He didn't let her apologize for her assumption. Brienne couldn't speak for all Lannisters, but she could vouch for Ser Jaime. She didn't doubt he told lies, but she knew he was honest when it mattered. 

_Oathkeeper._

_I lied to you, and still you followed me. I was but a liar and yet you trusted me_. The ruby eyes glinted in the firelight, glinted like Ser Jamie's eyes _. I shall keep our oaths, and hopefully, that will absolve our sins._

Brienne placed her sword, her magic sword, against the post of her small bed. She sucked her injured thumb until the bleeding stopped. Her hands smelled faintly of the oil used to polish her sword. Peck said it was made from some plant that grew in the Westerlands. Brienne hadn't known at the time, but the scent tangled with Ser Jaime's. She doubted he noticed himself. It was earthy, but it was pleasant, and when she closed her eyes, she saw his smug, beautiful smile.

The cut on her thumb reminded Brienne of a different type of blood flow-

_She could smell the blood._

_Her bottom lip trembled slightly. It was the best pain of her life, and sharp, like sticking her fingers in the flames of her bedroom's hearth when she was a girl. Only for an instant. Septa Roelle had choice words for her then. She'd have choice words for her now._

_"Breathe Brienne." His voice rumbled low. With Jaime's chest pressed flush against her own, she could feel the vibrations of his words. He kissed her until she opened her eyes. "Breathe Brienne." Jaime said again, as he began to rotate his hips. His eyes were soft and green like clovers._

_He kissed her once more and the smell went away. There was no blood. There was only him._

The hearth in her small room was flickering to douse, but in her small bed, with her dreams of rumbling lions and clovers, Brienne was warmer than the summer.

They left Crone's Grove at midday, with a satchel of provisions and an air of hope. The bed and warmth was such a comfort to Brienne that she slept longer than she's had in ages. Lady Sansa greeted her with a kind smile. Podrick and Ser Hyle readied the horses and they were on their way before the sun moved from its apex. 

After what must have been six leagues of riding, Brienne decided to water the horses for a fourth time that day and settle into a camp for the night. Podrick found a brook of water that still ran south and lead their mounts to drink. 

"Brienne," Lady Sansa removed the hood of her cloak and squared her shoulders. 

"Yes, my lady?" She had been gathering wood to make a fire for their evening meal. 

"I wish for you to teach me how to use my weapon now." 

Brienne was surprised. All that day, Lady Sansa had said nothing regarding the dirk or its use. "My Lady, I can certainly teach you to use the weapon. Although, I'm afraid it is rather late to do so now. At first light, we will go over all the basics and after awhile, you will be a force." 

Brienne smiled small as Lady Sansa frowned in disappointment. 

She woke the next morning to the lady standing above her. Lady Sansa held her dirk in her right hand. As her eyes adjusted to the pale grey light, Brienne noticed the weapon as if for the first time. It was finely made, the blade was castle forged and made of a blue steel that shun silver as moon glow when light hit it and traveled along the fuller of its center. A wolf, a direwolf?, graced the top of its pommel, causing Brienne to wonder if the lady had known the weapon before they encountered the peddler. 

The lady sheathed the dagger and sighed. The hood of her cloak was down and only then, had Brienne taken note of her shorn head. 

"My lady?!" She gasped. 

"I couldn't get the dye from the ends. And yours is shorter than mine anyhow." Lady Sansa held a red brown tendril betwixt her fingers. "It pleases me this way." Though her words were soft, the hardness in her eyes unsettled Brienne.

"We will practice defense today, if you will, Lady Brienne." She hadn't addressed Brienne as a lady since that first day out of the Erie. 

"I, yes, my lady." It took her but a moment to scramble to her feet. 

"Good. I look forward to your lesson." 

They ate a meal of dried apples and hard oat cakes much in a silence occasionally broken by the grumbling of Ser Hyle. The time for the lady's first lesson came with two dagger sized frozen sticks of wood Podrick managed to find.

Lady Sansa eyed the sticks with distaste, prompting Brienne to dive into the lesson without ceremony. She felt it was a bit rude, but her head swam rather uneasily and her stomach felt strange. 

"The wood is because you're not ready for a blade." The words were sharp. Lady Sansa's glare caused Brienne to remember herself. She took a deep breath and continued. 

"You are too weak to wield a longsword, my lady. And so, a dagger, or your dirk, is a far more appropriate weapon. You must needs be quick whenever you attack. Your opponents will underestimate you in every regard, but if you bide your time, watch their moves as you block their advances, and strike swift and true, you will defeat them every time. My master- at- arms, Ser Goodwin, told me much the same when I began sword training. Now, are you ready to begin, my lady?" 

Lady Sansa held her head high. "Whenever you are, Brienne." 

They practiced longer than necessary and by the time their group resumed their travels, it was well past midday. Lady Sansa was worse than Brienne thought she would be. Her footing was rather good, but when she attacked, her thrusts were slow and clumsy. She pivoted too quickly and was too weak to block properly. They had a long way to go, but Brienne assured her that, if they train each forenoon, then her skills will hone in no time. The lady sniffed in annoyance at that, but stopped glaring at her all the same _. She will come around_ , Brienne told herself. _You just have to be patient_. As her horse trotted along the road, Brienne wondered how long she'd have to wait. 

The Twins was a bridge castle, larger than Brienne expected. Their group lay atop a hill and watched the activity along the castle below. 

"How do you suppose we cross? We can pay the toll at the bridge-" Ser Hyle began.

"It is too dangerous with the lady present." Brienne interrupted. She looked at Lady Sansa then. Brienne thought she may be overcome by some great sorrow; the sight caused Brienne heartache herself; but the lady kept the same righteous determination she held since she'd met her. 

"Aye. We heard your concerns about the lady and the bloody Freys, but there is still the problem of crossing the river. Bridge or-" 

"Look!" Podrick exclaimed. He pointed to what appeared to be a barge a little ways down the fork. 

"We will take that barge." Brienne told the group. 

Hunt rolled his eyes. "Oh course we will." 

They reached the barge and the old man preparing it for crossing before midday. He was grizzled and gray, with large arms and thick white hair. He'd a beard that reached his belly and he wore the dirty clothes of a man who'd made a life on the waters. 

"Seven blessing," he greeted them as they approached, "what might I do for you friends?" 

Brienne spoke, "Seven blessings to you as well. We hoped we may cross the river on your raft." 

He eyed them warily. "My raft is property of the Lord Walder. I take his horses and goods cross when the bridge gets too crowded. Not crowded today, no. Why not cross there?" 

"We- " she began, unsure of what to say. 

Lady Sansa sensed her hesitance. "We've no wish to cross with the Freys. We can pay you fine coin for your service. How much will you charge?" 

The old man scratched his round belly and frowned. "You've four large horses and two armored knights. That much weight puts more work on my end to make sure we don't flip over. I'd say...four dragons should be 'nough." 

"Four dragons!" Ser Hyle blurted. 

"Aye." The man looked at him sternly. "Four dragons' the price." 

"You're bloody mad old man." 

Brienne pulled the coins from her purse. "Four dragons it is." She handed the man the money and the group boarded the barge. 

Hunt stood beside her as they moved across the river. "You're going to burn through that money before we reach the Wall, you know. I don't think your Lannister can send more through a raven." 

Brienne glared at him. "Thank you for your opinion, ser. I'm sure we will have coin enough for our travels." 

Ser Jaime had made sure she had two purses full of money. One was filled with hundreds of gold dragons while the other had more silver stags than she could count in one sitting. Brienne hid the coins well in her satchel. 

She made her way to stand beside Podrick and watched the icy water pass by in comfortable silence with her squire. 

They traveled for days without conflict. The moon turned and it was a bright slender crescent when trouble found them. The air was moist, but crisp, and far warmer than it had been in the Vale, though the winter winds still cut sharp. Brienne heard Lady Sansa tell Podrick that the last time she was in the Neck; it had been humid and miserable. Brienne could only guess as to how that would be. She knew very little of swamp land. They settled down, right on the Kingsroad; for the tree line was broken and muggy, and there were dangers in the woods that could swallow a man whole within the span of a breath. Ser Hyle made a fire bright enough to give notice of any night creatures that may approach. Though the woods were silent all through the bogs and the swamps along the Kingsroad, Brienne could feel eyes follow her; not the gaze of animal, prey and predator alike, she felt the manic stare of men. She told Ser Hyle once they made camp. 

"I don't see anything." His gaze swept their surroundings as hers had. "All the same, let us take our watches in twos." 

"I think that's a fine idea, ser." He cut a bright smile and looked up at her, firelight dancing across his face. Brienne rolled her eyes and went to help Podrick settle the horses. Lady Sansa stood near him, as she always had, and together the two brushed their coats and feed them chalky white carrots. 

As his mount chewed Podrick spoke. His expression was solemn. "That was the last of the carrots, my lady."

"Oh." Brienne was embarrassed she hadn't known already. Their food count had slipped her mind completely during the days past. All she could really focus on had been the queasiness of her stomach and the spells of unholy fatigue. "Have we more sacks of oats?" 

"We, we do, ser. Two sacks full. That, they, they'll last mayhaps another sennight. We must needs find more food, or the horses wa will..." 

"I know. It is alright. Once we're out of the Neck, I'm sure we can find more provisions." Brienne mustered a smile for him. Close mouthed and small. It didn't help Podrick's despondent expression or the look of hopelessness in his gaze. Lady Sansa placed a hand upon his forearm and whispered in his ear. Brienne watched as a slow blush blossomed across his face. The lady turned to her then. Her face was stern and dismissive. 

"That will be all for now, Brienne. Thank you."

Brienne nodded. "Okay, my lady." 

She turned and walked back to the campfire. She tried to keep the hurt from her eyes and her chest as she settle down, next to Ser Hyle Hunt. He'd a handful of their dried meat, chewing mechanically as he gazed at the fire. 

"What?" He asked without looking away. "They boot you from their club?" 

Brienne remained silent and watched the fire as well. Lady Sansa had fallen into the same routine of disregarding Brienne as she had when they left the Lannister camp. She started ignoring her the morning after they crossed the Green Fork, when Brienne became ill. That morning there was worry in her eyes, until she came to some conclusion and thought better of it. 

Ser Hyle took more meat from the bag and handed it to Brienne. "If you're going to sit and watch the fire, might as well eat too." The meat was salty and had smokiness to it. "Don't know how those red priests look at the flames all day. Doing this for nearly a quarter hour's got my eyes burning." 

Brienne nodded. 

"Want some apples?" 

The apples were sweet and chewy in their dryness. She drank icy snowmelt to wash it down and instantly regretted it. Ser Hyle laughed when he saw her shiver. 

"You should've waited 'til I heated it up." 

Podrick and Lady Sansa joined them after awhile and the two ate their meager supper in relative silence. The lady yawned and stretched before going to her bedroll. 

Hunt spoke before Podrick could move. "You can go rest with the girl, Pod. Your lady ser and I can take first watch." 

Podrick blushed again. "Th-thank ya,you ser." 

Ser Hyle grinned. "Don't think me just yet. I'll wake you in three hours from your warm dreams." 

Podrick and Lady Sansa were asleep for a long time before Ser Hyle spoke to her. He poked the fire with a stick and crossed his arms about his chest, trying to conserve all his warmth. He looked at the sleeping children and then up to Brienne. From across the fire, Brienne could see the angry scars the ropes burned against his neck. Podrick's looked similar and she knew hers looked the same. 

"You going to sit there all night with that whipped look on your face?" 

Brienne bristled. "I don't know what you're talking about, ser." 

He huffed. "That girl's not going to forgive you anytime soon, so stop wallowing in pity." 

Brienne glared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about, ser."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure you don't. Hope he was worth the strife between you and your lady." 

Brienne stood. He looked up at her from his seat. His eyes were tired and his face was sour. "I don't know what you're talking about, ser." She turned and walked from their camp into the moonlit forest. 

He was infuriating, almost as infuriating as Ser Jaime had been on their voyage from Riverrun. And the worst thing about it was that he kept saying the same things. Brienne was grateful for Ser Hyle's companionship on her journey and she felt terrible that he nearly died; all the same, the man could get under her skin if he grew bored enough. A part of her wished he would leave their group and seek the hand of some other unwed highborn lady knight.

Brienne relieved herself a few yards from their camp and heard rustling in the bent and broken cypress trees. She drew her sword and looked around. It stopped after a few moments. She stayed still until pelicans flew through the sky and a few large billed birds walked around the tree stumps next to her. 

_You're near swamps, remember. Huge creatures live here. Creatures that can make just as much noise as men._

Brienne sheathed her blade and made her way back to camp. Ser Hyle told her he could take the next watch with Podrick and Brienne nodded before she shook her squire awake. She made her bedroll as comfortable as she could before she lay down and dreamed of time spent with Ser Jaime. 

_Brienne's breath returned to her slowly. Jaime's eyes were closed, he still went through the motions of their coupling, and it gave Brienne an instant to study him. As she sat upon his lap, his palm and wrist grasped her back, pressing their sweaty skin together. He was flushed, cheeks rosy and white and golden, somehow. His hair curling wildly, where it didn't stick slick to his forehead, and his beard and mustache, darkened from moist kisses and things Brienne blushed to remember. Again, her eyes strayed to the sword against the bed post. Oathkeeper was a sword as beautiful as the man beneath her. It was crimson and golden with a black scabbard, and the wild lion roaring on its pommel reminded her so of Jaime._

_"Have you seen one?" The question slipped unbidden from her lips._

_His eyelids snapped open and his green eyes were alert with curiosity._

_"Beg pardon." His voice was hoarse._

_"A lion. Have you seen a lion before?"_

Of course he's seen a lion. Lions have been following him his entire life. He's a Lannister after all. He'll think your question simple. 

_Jaime smirked and opened his mouth, but Brienne quickly interjected. "-one that wasn't painted, or on a tapestry, or sculpted into some statue. A lion of flesh and fur, I mean."_

_He held her gaze and snorted. "Is that your first thought after riding me? You're a queer wench indeed."_

_She tried her best to scowl through her flush. From his expression, it was hard to tell if she succeeded._

_He sighed and smiled sharp. "Yes, Brienne. I have seen a flesh and fur," he laughed at that, "lion before. There are still prides living in the caves under Casterly Rock." He brought his wrist up beside them. There was a far off look in his eyes. "One nearly bit my hand off when I was a boy. Imagine if that happened. I'd undoubtedly have two stumps by now."_

_A boldness overtook her and Brienne grabbed his right arm. She kissed his maimed wrist gently and looked into his eyes afterward. They regarded her strangely._

_"Why talk of lions now?"_

_"I was curious. I carry a lion sword, though I've never seen one. I hear they're huge beasts with fangs the length of a man's hand. My septa told me when they roar, it's like thunder on the sea."_

_He smirked again and the sadness in his eyes vanished. "Did your septa regularly recite poetry to you?"_

_"No. My septa was not a woman of gentleness." Brienne tried to smush her own sorrow into the floor beneath them._

_"The adults are large, with long fangs, yes. Their bodies are covered in golden fur." Brienne touched his mustache where it curled and he smiled. "They've great manes, the males anyway, and they are indeed fierce creatures. All the same, they can be rather gentle. They nuzzle against men who train them and can be as tame as house cats. There was a man who brought a great old lion to the palace on occasion. My brother thought it was magnificent." His smile turned sad again._

_"What about the roar?" She asked, trying to distract him._

_He huffed a laugh. "How to describe the roar of a lion? I suppose one could say it is liken thunder on the sea. You could also say that it's bone chilling, that the intensity of the sound vibrates deep within your mind once you've heard it. It can inspire lesser men to battle. What a thing to have been commander of our armies when we still used lions." He gave her a wistful smile. "I would say their roars are rough." He kissed her bottom lip. "I would say their roars are powerful." He kissed the side of her mouth. "I would say their roars are far more terrifying than mere thunder on the sea."_

_Jaime kissed her deeply after that and there was no talk more of lions._

The air was cold when Podrick shook her shoulder, waking her. Brienne yawned silently and rubbed her eyes. Pale gray light bled through the clouds. 

"Are ya,you al-alright ser, my lady?" 

It took Brienne a moment to gather her thoughts but she could find not a thing askew. 

"I'm okay." She told Podrick, speaking slowly. "Has something happened?" 

"You, you slept through your second wa-watch." His eyes shifted to his side, to where Lady Sansa sat behind them eating dried apples and glaring at Brienne. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You kept calling for Ser Jamie." 

Immediately she flushed with embarrassment. "I, I, I'm quite fine Pod, thank you. Are the horses saddled? We should move as soon as we are readied." 

"Aye, my lady ser." 

They traveled much as they had the entire journey: Podrick road in front, Lady Sansa more beside him than behind, Brienne more or less in the middle, and Ser Hyle flanking the back. 

Around midday, they reached a great many cliffs with white sand beaches below. The bluffs stood tall over huge jagged rocks that the waves ceaselessly crashed upon. Noting the change in the landscape, Brienne road up to speak with her two younger companions. 

"I think we should rest the horses, my lady. We can sup and have a drink of water ourselves. Or if you wish, we can practice your dagger training." 

Lady Sansa regarded her boredly. "I suppose, Brienne." 

They stopped at a clearing in the nearby woods. The dirt was black and rich from the rains and the snow made everything a muddied mess. Podrick saw to the horses and Ser Hyle tried to start a fire, while Brienne and Lady Sansa began to spar. 

The lady was improving greatly within her small time of training. She had good instincts and managed to avoid what would have been a devastating blow without much thought. Brienne was tired by the time Hunt brought the fire to life. She decided it was a perfect opportunity for the lady to fight an opponent who wasn't herself or Podrick. 

Brienne sat on a relatively dry log and watched as Ser Hyle and Lady Sansa circled each other. The lady's cloak was off, as was Ser Hyle's, and her vibrant crimson hair made her white skin look all the more pale. She was beautiful and the colors reminded Brienne of sweet cream and blood. 

Ser Hyle taunted her. "Come on then, if you're not frightened." He motioned with his hands for her to approach him.

Lady Sansa didn't give in to his words. She waited until he lost patience and made to thrust an upper cut near her left shoulder. She pivoted, as Brienne knew she would, and blocked his next blow. She had to be quick to use the dirk and her footwork winded Hunt rather quickly. Brienne knew their dance approached its end when Ser Hyle slipped; landing hard on his back and Lady Sansa knelt upon his chest, blade to his throat, and fire in her eyes. 

"Do you yield?!" She yelled. 

Ser Hyle looked righteously angry and grumbled. "Yea, I yield. Now get off me." 

Brienne wondered if she felt more proud in all her life. 

Lady Sansa handed her the dirk Ser Hyle used and smiled. It was the triumphant smile of the victorious and Brienne smiled in return. 

"Not too bad now, wouldn't you say?" She asked. 

Brienne nodded; grateful the girl was speaking to her again. "I knew you'd take to it with ease, my lady."

The lady sighed. "I've been rather terrible to you, Brienne. And it isn't proper-" 

"No, my lady-" 

Lady Sansa held up her hand. "It isn't proper. You've protected me and now you've taught me to protect myself. I am grateful. Can you forgive me?" 

"There is nothing to forgive." Brienne smiled and Lady Sansa relaxed into her own. 

They set out shortly after. The Kingsroad curved around the sea cliffs and the forest. The waves were as loud as those of Shipbreaker Bay at the height of a nasty storm. Brienne's mind wondered to lessons with her septa and of things Ser Jaime would consider more terrifying. In the distance, on the water, three islands stood proud against the sea.

"Those are the Three Sisters." Lady Sansa said from beside her. "I saw them first with my father and Arya as we rode to King's Landing. Father told me they had come from the ocean as gifts for three maids whom each married the same sea God. He said their spirits are believed to preside over the islands still." 

She looked sadly toward the water before returning her attention to the road before them. The Sisters made Brienne think of Tarth, of her own eastern sea island, and her own lord father there. She missed him so much. She missed his warm smiles, his teeth as crooked as her own, and the fact that she had to look up to see his blue eyes. Brienne stuffed her longing into the pit of her queasy stomach and looked ahead.

Not a league later, she heard them. There may have been two score from the sounds of their hooves. Brienne turned to Ser Hyle and saw the same apprehension in his eyes. 

"Pod," she called. "Stay close to the lady." 

They were coming. Breaking through the trees. Brienne stood tall upon her horse, next to Ser Hyle, as the first of twelve mounted knights emerged from the wood. 

"What business have you here?" Ser Hyle called.

His question was met with drawn swords and charging horses. Oathkeeper was out and dancing before Brienne registered the movement. Podrick and Lady Sansa were behind her, weapons ready, waiting to fight were she to fall. 

Two men to her extreme right kick their horses into a run and made to attack. Brienne pivoted her horse slightly, side stepping their charge, and sliced one in the back. It was a wide blow. She watched his blood spray hot on the snow and his guts spill through his waist. He slumped to the floor, whilst his frightened horse galloped off, in the direct from whence he came. 

"You'll pay for that, you bastard!" The other man yelled. 

He came at her much the same way, but pressed her and her mount between a grand tree. Her eyes flickered to her companions. Podrick and the Lady Sansa were still astride their horses, watching the battle, waiting for men to challenge them. Ser Hyle fought a brawny man. They were both on foot and the clang and clash of their swords was faint in Brienne's ears. 

The man Brienne fought wore hard worn armor that rusted in the places armor always seemed to rust. His helm was silver and there was a small white bird painted at the forehead. He favored long slashes and pointed jabs. None of his efforts landed true and Brienne took an opportunity, a too wide opening, to end their dance. He fell from his horse into a pile of crimson amongst the white. 

She turned again. Another glance at Podrick. A fleeting look at the lady. She didn't see when the archer feathered an arrow through the eyes of her horse, she only held tight as it whinnied and kicked violently. Her heart was in her throat as she flew from her saddle and landed hard on her right arm. It was not yet healed from its break and the pain was blinding. She heard Lady Sansa cry her name and heard the song of swords from their direction. 

Fighting her vomit, Brienne rose to her feet and found Oathkeeper a yard from her impact. Her head swam as she made her way to Podrick and Lady Sansa. She was nearly there when Ser Hyle screamed in pain. Brienne's head snapped his direction for an instant. There was blood, there was so much blood, everywhere it seemed, crimson overpowering the snow. The ground was drunk with it. Ser Hyle fought still. He'd an arrow shooting from his right shoulder plate, and in that moment, Brienne saw him dispatch his opponent. 

Three men, positioned as a triangle, attacked Podrick and the lady. With both palms gripping the hilt of his longsword, Podrick stabbed the man nearest him through the throat. The others yelled vile curses at the pair. One grabbed for lady Sansa, pulling her from her horse. She righted herself quickly and plunged her dirk deep into his thigh. He screamed and back handed her with such force that she spiraled backwards. The other tried to replicate Podrick's blow and went for his neck. He was too slow and Podrick turned in time to suffer but a graze high on his right cheekbone.

Everything happened quickly then. Her heard swam still, but Brienne was upon them. She pulled the man attacking Podrick from his horse and made quick work of him. Oathkeeper went through his chest as though he were naught but wet parchment. She moved to the man before Lady Sansa, grabbed his thigh, and pulled. Screaming in pain, he fell to the ground as well. There was a loud thump from Ser Hyle's direction. She glanced his way again, expecting to see a fallen foe. The cry that left her throat was high-pitched and full of anguish. 

_You can not think of him now. You can not help him now._

She stabbed the man beneath her and the blade sank deep into his heart. There were too many for any kill other than mercy. An arrow whistled past her ear and the leader of the men yelled. 

"Enough!" His voice rasped. "From your horse now boy!" 

Podrick looked at her, wide-eyed, waiting. There were six men still. Too many for just herself with her injuries. Reluctantly, with the slightest movement, Brienne nodded. He slid from his mount not a moment sooner. 

The men also settled upon the ground. Their armor and cloaks were dreary grey, with small white birds painted here and there. They formed a wide arc and slowly proceeded toward she, Podrick, and the Lady Sansa. Brienne's feet crunched on the slippery, snow covered grass and again she heard the waves. They were fierce and thunderous. Within moments, she realized they were being pushed toward the bluffs. Anger spread like fire within her. These men, whomever they were, felt they'd the right to take their lives. _I've worked hard to keep my oath. I won't allow them to take me from it._

"Who are you?" Brienne spat. Her sword was raised and she tried her best to make sure her charges stayed behind her.

The leader laughed. "Bad men." His teeth were as white as ivory silk.

"What do you want?" _It would lead her in revenge._

"The lady there." He pointed to Lady Sansa with his sword. 

"She's no lady." The cliff was but a yard away now. She heard the waves loudly.

"Aye, she is." Another said from behind him. Bright orange hair poked from his helm and his beard was the color of peeled carrots. "And Stark too." 

"You're mistaken." Podrick's voice was as rough and enraged as Brienne's. He held a hand tight against his wounded cheek. 

The leader began to speak again, but the lady spoke above him. She spoke above the waves. 

"Tell Littlefinger I am no longer his hostage!" 

The leader smirked. "Don't work that way m'lady. Sides, you can tell him yourself." 

The group advanced toward them. One tried to grasp the collar of Lady Sansa's tunic but Brienne punched his nose hard and he stumbled. She heard Podrick gasp sharply and turned just in time to see him fall backward, over the cliff. Her hand shot out to grab his arm but caught open air. Before she could blink, they shoved her hard. She didn't see who did it, and as she fell, she heard the waves. They were so loud as she fell to the sea. The wind was cold and biting as it cut past her. She heard Lady Sansa as the men grabbed her. The lady's screams grew fainter with each yard Brienne dropped. The wind boomed in her ears, but not as much as the waves. The waves bellowed and howled. They were deafening. They were terrifying.

And again, as strange as it was, she wondered how a lion's roar compared. 


	2. Jaime I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein middle children are left the messes.

Jaime walked the length of the throne room with his head held high, as such was his way. There was a sizable audience in attendance that day: peasants in the gallery, petitioners clustering through the tall doors behind him, knights and lesser nobles beneath roaring tapestries along the walls. It was a cold morning, snow fell in drifts but had stopped before the dawn, and pale-yellow light now spilled through the high narrow windows of the cavernous hall, marking orange slits along the floors it touched. Though even with the chill, the smell of too many bodies perforated the enclosed space.

He walked past the council table, glancing at the curious old faces there. Mace Tyrell sat where surely his sister would be; at the center of the table, facing those of the court, positioned directly beneath the king's throne. Jaime's eyes again swept across the councilors, near the steps, but she was nary to be found. _Where was she?_ Beside him was Randyll Tarly, stern faced as ever. Tarly's opposite, the seat left of Tyrell was empty. _That's right, old Pycell was murdered_. That chinless pheasant, Harys Swyft, occupied the chair left of the empty one. New Master of Ships, the bald Paxter Redwyne, sat right of Tarly. Cersei's non-maester Qyburn was now Master of Whispers. _I knew she'd give the lickspittle some position in the group. The fool._ The two chairs at the extreme ends of the table lay empty. One for the absent Queen Mother perhaps. And another for an advisor of some sort. _I wonder who it would be. It matters not, this entire charade is but a jape anyhow. I'll fix that soon enough. I'll put better men, westermen most like, in Tommen's new council. Tyrell can remain hand, for now, but he will be removed soon enough, along with the rest of this dreck._

Two of his sworn brothers stood sentinel as stone beside the staircase. Meryn Trent's droopy eyes flickered to Jaime's face for but a moment, whilst that sot Boros Blount stared to the back of the hall in a daze. _This is who's left guarding the king? This lot couldn't protect a cake from one of those fat Mandrelys. Well, perhaps Trent, but he couldn't be trusted._ He pursed his lips, displeased. Stopping before the foot of the throne's great steps, Jaime knelt. "I have returned, Your Grace."

He could hear Tommen's excitement as he fidgeted in the hideous iron seat. "Arise, Ser Uncle." He said and Jaime regained his footing. "Tell us how our kingdoms fare."

Jaime smiled as he met the boy's beam. "The Riverlands are now without incident. Your peace has been restored, Your Grace."

Tommen's legs swung leisurely before the chair, feet brushing the cushioned velvet footstool beneath them. "You've done very well. I am pleased to hear as much. If you have naught to add, I give you leave to go about your affairs."

Jaime smirked. Someone, Ser Kevan perhaps, had taught the boy king to drawl through the courtesies of his position. He bowed again, deeply, and said a rather pleasant, "Your Grace," before turning to leave the rust coloured columns and cloisters of the hall he's never much cared for.

The walk to Meagor's Holdfast was a strange one. He crossed the drawbridge and noticed snow piled high against the frost tipped spikes of its moats. The halls and courtyards leading to the queen's apartments were as silent as the grave. He heard the skitter and pitter patter of servants here and there, though they retreated just out of sight at his approach _. What has happened to make this keep occupied by naught but frightened mice?_ It was not even as such during the Targaryen fall _. What have you done Cersei?_

A monster of a man, armored in the enameled white scales of his brotherhood stood sentry beside her grand doors. The man remained still as stone all the while Jaime moved down the hall. He stopped just before the giant and looked up, looked into the eye slits of his white helm. Glazed, blood red eyes stared at nothing down the corridor. Ghastly cracked black skin surrounded the red balls. Despite himself, despite a lifetime of training, years of felling enemies to his blade, despite the fact that he'd lost a bloody hand and was forced to wear it as a pendant for over a fortnight, despite all that, a gasp escaped Jaime's mouth as those fish dead eyes turned on him. It was Gregor fucking Clegane. _How was this even possible?_ He was dead. He had died.

The Mountain regarded him for but a moment before returning his lifeless glare to the empty hall behind him. Jaime took that as the end of their encounter and proceeded to the queen. Her chambers smelled of cinnamon bark, as they had the previous winter. He found her in the main room, upon the grand balcony, overlooking the city. She wore a gown of blood red silk that trailed along the floor behind her as she moved. Her back was to him and he made it halfway before he noticed her lack of hair. He received a missive regarding her walk and impending trial once he returned to his encampment. It sounded bad when he read her hand script, though he never imagined this...

She turned to him as he took the first step onto the platform steps. Her arms were bare, a strange choice with cold, and she'd a glass of red wine in her right hand. The garment's plunging neckline revealed fading yellow welts on her chest. She was covered in bruises: a large yellow-green one healing at the base of her right breast, not far from her collarbone; yellow and green crisscrossed along her arms as though she were a defiant child regularly whipped with a septa's thin cane; her right elbow held a great contusion, there was still a ring of purple-black blood along its perimeter, though the purple faded to green, faded to yellow as the eye reached its center; the left side of her upper lip was split in a thin cut; her high right cheekbone was green and yellow like her arms. The stress of her time imprisoned left her cheeks too hollow, the skin under her eyes purplish and weary, face too gaunt and greyish. _What did they do to you, sister?_

"Jaime." She sobbed. His twin reached for him, and per instinct, he embraced her as he had done his whole life. "You were gone so long. I knew you weren't dead. I knew it."

His palm, his stump held her back, near the bottom of her ribcage. Gone were the golden waves that cascaded to her thighs, though the soft fuzz of hair left her cast her head in a heavenly glow. It would soon curl in its shortness, much like his own.

"Not dead yet. Though not for lack of trying on the parts of those who sought to slay me. Tell me sister, how could you let this happen?"

She pushed away from him then, looked into his eyes, eyes like her own, and curved her mouth in defense.

"How could I let this happen?!" She was quiet in her incredulity, in her rage. "I wrote to you Jaime. I wrote to you and you came too late." She snarled at him. "You're always too late!"

"You're alive. Tommen's alive. There's still time enough to fix your folly-"

"My folly?!" Her question cut sharper than her eyes.

Jaime didn't spark to anger as she had. "What would you call it sister?"

"I was betrayed Jaime. Our uncle lifted nary a finger to stop them. I was forced to walk about the city like grandfather's whore. They threw shit at me Jaime..." Her eyes met his again. Tears welled in them. "They tried to take Tommen from me. They wouldn't let me see him. He's my son. He's our son." She touched the couter of his left arm. It was a caress against the metal, holding none of the disdain of her previous speech. "Jaime, they tried to take our son."

Their son. The son left them. The king he served. The boy was surrounded by beasts who wanted to sink their fangs into his flesh and rip him apart. The lioness in his arms sought the same he knew, declawed though she was...for the moment at the least. _I must protect him. I will not fail another king. Another child._

During his musing, his sister touched his cheek. "Help me, Jaime. I need your help now brother, more than ever I've needed it before. They killed Kevan-"

"They? I thought that would have been a debt you've paid him."

Her eyes turned hard, though her palm remained soft against him. "He was the last thing of Father left us. Though he dishonored our family, though he humiliated me..." she made a sound in the back of her throat as she sighed with rage. It could have been a growl. "Though he'd done such things, Ser Kevan took hold of that peasant septon. He got under his filthy skin and was turning the...debacle into something we could salvage. I had plans Jaime. And Mace Tyrell, or should I say his old bitch of a mother, had him murdered."

Jaime didn't know what to think. The Tyrells could very well have done away with his father's last brother. And yet, so could have his twin.

"Don't look at me like that!" She snapped. "I've done no harm to him. I'd other plans for his payment. I'm not a kinslayer, unlike your precious little monster. He'd been feathered with arrows from a crossbow. Most like Tyrion worked with the wretches. He's always sought to destroy our family. If you hurry, you may very well catch him before he flees yet again."

Cersei drank the remainder of her wine and went to refill the glass. "Are you going to say nothing?"

He waited for her to reach the destination she clearly longed for. "Fine," she said before drinking a heavy gulp, "I've no problem continuing this one-sided conversation." She closed the distance between them. Staring at him, she crossed her arms about her chest, under the breasts, pushing them upward ever so slightly. Her neck was exposed, beautiful and bruise free, and as she tilted her head to the right, he'd a view of the path he used to trail kisses down. All the way down to her cunt. "They told me you'd disappeared whilst in the Riverlands. Left with that beast of a girl for weeks." His head tilted a fraction. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get to the point. "Why were you gone so long? What where you doing for so long?"

Brienne flickered through his mind, eyes blue and wide, face sated and flushed beneath him. He licked the sweat from the valley between her breasts and she'd whimper whenever he'd take a teat.

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "I did as you bid me, Your Grace-"

"Don't tell me you're still angry ab-," he knew she smelled his deflection.

"I'm sworn to serve, you said so yourself." Her fingertips roamed along his white breastplate and he stopped her there. Holding her palm, he hardened his expression. "I told you it was folly then, to have Tommen put his seal upon all and sundry set before him. You wanted the Riverlands. I've taken the Riverlands back." Her eyes narrowed. "I've done my duty, Your Grace. And now," he sighed, "I must protect the king against this latest gaffe you've presented him."

She jerked free of his grasp. Her lips became a thin line and she glowered. "You mock me, brother." He knew that look well. He knew her palm itched to strike him, but the blow never came. Instead, she sighed. "You wound me, brother." Her eyes were summer green and poignant. "Look at us," her right hand gesticulated betwixt them, "we've suffered wounds enough. Now is not the time for this, dear brother. Now we must act and defeat our enemies. A swift sword stroke, remember, you know the rest. The position of regent falls back to me, though that buffoon Mace Tyrell will undoubtedly object, he and his toads."

"And what? You'd have me challenge them all to single combat in the street-"

Her laugh was sharp and quick. "Don't be ridiculous, brother. You need two hands for a proper duel...even if one's opponents are naught but old men."

He glared and she caught herself. "No Jaime, no fights for you. I've something else in mind for Ser Kevan's small council. Whom I speak of are the peasants. That old man will try to fly higher from this, but we will strike him down. He and all the rest. They'll get their due. Five times over and paid in full." She smirked. "Such as Father would have done."

"You are not Lord Tywin, sister. And Mace Tyrell is an acceptable choice for the job of Hand at present. It leaves the Tyrells close enough to-"

"You jest-"

"Do you see me laughing? The small council isn't an immediate concern." She crossed her arms about her chest. "Though I agree with you about the Faith Militant. What apparition bewitched you into restoring that order? Even I remember the lessons about them and Maegor the Cruel." Vaguely. Tyrion would know all aspects of that quarrel and its resolve. Their brother was a mind that could turn this disaster in their favor, and quickly. Once in a thousand years. Jaime had known two in thirty-four. But the dwarf was far away, drinking himself blind in some Myrish whore house most like. _Tell me_ , his brother had said. _And the look in his eyes afterward..._

 _I should have taken that secret to my grave. You can point out Cersei's folly but balk at your own._ Something flitted in her gaze then, something similar to their brother's in that cell. _A Lannister always pays his debts_. The proverb rang true then, mayhaps more so than ever it had before for Jaime _. An expensive lie, and the price was mine brother. I may never see him again. Yet another oath broken. Best not to think of Tyrion, better not to think of Mother..._

"Look at what's become of me." She held her bruised arms before him. "Gander upon my face." She turned her head to accentuate her green right cheek. "I know the price I've paid better than anyone. I welcome your assistance, brave brother, but should you find the task too much, I can do things on my own. It would seem the Riverlands have turned you craven, as well as crippled."

"Cersei-"

"Leave!" She ordered. "Leave now. You're naught but a fool." _You poor stupid blind crippled fool_. "I will protect my son."

"Sister."

She glared at him as their father might. She tried her best to emulate the late lord but always came wanting. Stepping away from him, she walked toward the balcony, returning to gaze upon the city below.

"You are dismissed, Lord Commander. See to your duties elsewhere."

Jaime watched her drink more wine; saw as she held her head high in defiance against his imagined slights. "I said to leave!"

"Your Grace." And he was gone, down the halls before the doors closed behind him.

His sister would brood and curse and want his company soon enough. And he will give her advice and she will not listen. Jaime was sure of this. He knew his twin. And so, he could see the desperation in her eyes like stars against a black night sky. She was cornered and lashing out with snarling claws. Natheless, her swings in mood made no matter to Jaime. _Let her rage. My duty is not to her. It is to Tommen. I must find an end to this army of the Faith which threatens him, and after... after I will deal with Cersei._

White Sword Tower was as he had left it. The council room of the Kingsguard was still round, white, and empty. His sworn brothers were scattered to the wind, well most of them. Cersei's Kettleblack was in a dungeon somewhere. A thought that pleased him perhaps too much. _Let_ _the bastard rot_. Loras Tyrell led a force to reclaim Dragonstone, but the lad was wounded, or so he was told, and had been classified as missing. Balon Swann was in Dorne for reasons only the Gods knew, though Jaime couldn't keep his nose from catching the whiff of his sister's meddling with that one. Myrcella was also in Dorne. Cersei may have sent Swann to spirit the girl back to the Red Keep.

A fire crackled in the hearth below the mounted shield and crossed longswords. It took the chill from the stone room. The constantly dropping temperatures of this season have made even his winter raiment less than comforting.

 _This winter will be a cold one_ , Jaime thought much to his chagrin. He sat at the old weirwood table, before the Book of Brothers, in the black oak chair of his predecessors, and waited for his requested company.

Addam Marbrand arrived at the top of the hour. Jaime heard the faint ring of sept bells as he opened the doors. Addam was an overly grey presence in an overwhelmingly white space. He wore a smoke grey doublet with the burning orange tree of his house sewn upon the breast. The darker, charcoal grey of his breeches and boots stood stark against the whitewashed walls and white stone floors. The bronze cloak upon his shoulder was the only reprieve to the drab colours. _White, grey, black. The colours of justice and truth. I shall restore those virtues to mine order, but first, I must restore them to the city, if ever this city possessed such._

"Are you enjoying your retirement from the City Watch?"

Addam smirked. "I haven't been in the city long enough to enjoy it." He took a chair opposite Jaime, across the round table, and settled himself into the wood. "I didn't want the blasted position to begin with, but when your Lord Father insisted upon something..."

"Lucky for me I became Kingsguard before my lord father's insistence had the opportunity to truly shape my life. I trust you're aware of why I asked you here."

Marbrand cocked one copper brow. "I've a few guesses, most prominent being the Sparrows and Poor Fellows."

"Wise man. My sweet sister surely did a number on our hold of things, giving them power-"

"What possessed her-"

Jaime sighed and shook his head. "I asked her as much. She gave me bullshite. A desperate move, but she'll never admit to it. She's... changed." He stopped himself. He was speaking too openly with this friend of his.

His friend looked at him strangely. "Are you sure it's she who's changed?"

Jamie had known Addam of house Marbrand since they were boys. He was not a brother, but the fellow knight was one of the very few people he could trust who didn't share his blood. Addam knew enough of him to read his lies, his smiles, his moods; same as he did the red-haired knight. Fostering together teaches one such things. Jamie wouldn't be surprised if Marbrand knew exactly how deep his love ran for his sweet sister. Yet and still, there were things best left unvoiced.

Jamie smiled, a smile he knew Marbrand could see through. "Why Addam, I am the same man I've always been." He waved his golden hand about ungracefully. "Well, in certain regards at least."

Addam pursed his lips. "If you say so."

Jaime decided to change the subject. He looked to the shield above the hearth. "What do you know of this Humphrey Waters? Tyrell appointed him the new Commander of the Gold Cloaks personally."

Marbrand looked thoughtful. "He's a burly man with a hard set to his mouth. Think Stannis Baratheon-"

"He sounds delightful." Jaime supplied dryly.

Addam continued with a smirk. "Waters was the only district captain not in someone's pocket. Your sister owned nearly all of _my_ men, she or that worm Littlefinger. He captained the Dragon Gate units rather effectively. I believe he's an efficient choice for the position."

"You say as much because you don't want the honor-"

"And truly I don't want it. Natheless, it does not make Waters less capable. Call upon the man when the time comes. He will be more reliable than most."

"Alright." Jaime said. "As for you Addam, I require skilled swords at my back. What say you to helping me defeat the Old Sparrow? The host remaining within the city will need to patrol the streets, along with the Gold Cloaks. Patrols should be made in areas that are overcome with the fanatics. Flea Bottom, for a start. There is need for reconnaissance, men to assess the numbers of the Sparrow's strength. What does the man have? Five hundred? Five thousand? I've a feeling that this is but a trickle and that soon the flood will consume us. Will you assist me in subduing this, old friend?"

Marbrand's features fell into the expression they ofttimes did before battle. His smirk was an excitable one. His eyes held a glint that could only be described as bloodlust. "It is best to plug the leak. I am yours to command."

"Excellent. Find one, a Sparrow, a Poor Fellow, whatever they're calling themselves, it makes no difference; press him for information. There was a riot three nights past. Find out when the next is to be held. Have the old man watched, night and day. If he shites, when he sleeps, who he talks to, report everything."

"Surveillance is rather dull-"

"There will be time enough for swords soon. I want to strike as much as you do but now-," _now I must be like Tyrion_ , "now we watch and plan."

"As you say. Your father would call this a cold war.” Addam’s gaze swept across the room before him. “It's too white in here." He said with a frown. "I wouldn't have wanted the honor of joining the Kingsguard either."

Jaime smiled. "It takes a certain type of man to guard the king, to wear the white. Our sins are highlighted against the colour." He looked at the clump of gold attached to his stump _. False knight. I left my wife and children in your hands. Kingslayer. Monster. Oathbreaker. You cuckolded your king. You murdered your father. You...you..you_. The weather was making the metal cold and heavier than normal. "And what man is without sin?"

The next morning brung the wake of Ser Kevan Lannister. Jaime stood vigil over the body throughout the night, much as he did his Lord Father. After Addam left, he made the climb to the top floor of White Sword Tower and briefly stared at the sea. The waves brought with them thoughts of ships and rocks and sapphires and maidens with swords _. Keep her safe. Keep her warm_. He wondered if one of the Seven would answer, but figured they wouldn't. They never did, for they weren't real. Children's stories like all the rest. Servants drew a bath and he washed in solitude before bundling warmly and falling into the sleep of the dead. He hadn't slept upon a featherbed in far too long and unconsciousness took him almost immediately. When next he woke, it was to a black night sky and a new moon. He sent for Josmyn Peckledon, the boy insisted upon remaining his squire, and was plated in his white armor in no time. A small guard rode with him to the Great Sept of Bealor, to his uncle's corpse and the oils burning for the souls of the dead.

For the second time in his life, the great sept grew dim and eerie and as Jaime stood before the bier of his Ser Uncle, five fingers curled around the hilt of a golden greatsword; it felt too much like last he stood vigil. Ser Kevan was dressed and armored much as his elder brother had been; with gorget and gauntlets, tasset and greaves, leonine and ornate, all splendid and all in gold. _Do they go to war once they die? Must they fight to pass he who guards those wrought iron gates? It's bloody ridiculous. I wonder if he will leave through the Gods' Gate as well._ The sept was quiet throughout the night. The only sounds came from the priests as they sang echoing hymnals for Lauds and lit more oils and candles by each of the seven marble statues. Though the eyes of the Seven were silent at their altars, they seemed to come alive as the light from the candle flames flickered against them. Silent and judging. _You did this_ , the faces seemed to say. _You did this_ , his uncle's corpse whispered. _You did this_ , his father's voice was stern within his mind. _You_.

 _How could I have done this_ , he wanted to shout _. Tell me how, Father, Uncle, Mother, Maiden, Crone, tell me how this is a fault of mine own hand._

He looked back to Ser Kevan's corpse and the face upon the bier was not his uncle's, but that of Tywin Lannister, lips receding in a grim, ghastly imitation of a smile. The mouth moved and he heard his Lord Father's voice ring true in his ears. "You did this."

"How? He was dead before I reached the city. Tell me how."

"How, you ask. Look around you, child. Look to your sins."

"That doesn't make sense. How did I kill him? I killed- I killed you Father. Not Kevan."

The corpse laughed. It was a grizzled sound, Iike nails against a stone wall, and it was too strange. Jaime had never heard his father laugh in all his life. _I am truly going mad, arguing with a corpse._

"And now, you shall pay your debts..."

More laughter and Jaime moved to the steps of the bier. It was his father's face, his father's balded head, the golden whiskers, and that horrid smile.

"My son...you shall pay your debts."

Jaime's hand grabbed the pauldron before him, shaking the corpse's shoulder hard.

"Father, speak what you mean. Speak truly. How did I do this? How?!"

Someone cleared their throat behind him. The sound returned him to the sept, to the vigil, to who he was, and laying before him was no longer the late Lord Tywin, but the slain Ser Kevan, face somber in death, green eyes painted on stones over his own forever closed pair. Jaime removed his hand and composed himself. He stepped back from the bier and picked up his greatsword, standing sentry once again.

"My lord," the voice, a young septon asked, "are you well?"

 _Am I well? That has yet to be seen_. "My uncle is dead upon that bier. How well would you be in my place?"

"I-," the septon started but decided better of his words. "Ser Kevan feasts in the Father's golden hall." He touched a few of his prayer beads.

The urge to roll his eyes overwhelmed him at that moment. "Does he now?"

The boy septon didn't appreciate Jaime's question, he scowled, and it was perhaps the first thing to amuse him after returning to this damnable city. The priest made the sign of the Seven over his heart and looked to the bier once more. "May the Gods preserve him."

He left before Jaime could comment further. _Well that was fun_ , he thought as he chuckled to himself. He wondered if tormenting septons resulted in being sentenced to serve an eternity of damnation in one of the seven hells. _Most like_. He looked at Ser Kevan again. _Are you in a hell, Ser Uncle? Or perhaps a heaven? Does my Lord Father feast beside you?_

Dawn crept by without his notice. Soon, the sept was filling for the first funeral service. Hundreds of lords and ladies made their way across the marble floor to kneel before the bier and pay their respects. They moved in a blur of velvets and cottons and furs, jewelry and perfumes and doe skin boots; all in the black of mourning.

It wasn't until his ear was pulled that he noticed a face familiar enough to care. She wore a gown of black velvet, high collard and long sleeved, which was much the fashion this day. She'd a cloak of stoat fur, black on the back, red inlaid, fastened about her shoulders with golden lion pins. She looked well warm, albeit sad, and the expression mixed with the lightness of her face paints made her face appear older than she might have liked.

"Jaime," she said as she pulled him into an embrace, "I am sorry for your loss."

When he pulled back, she kissed his cheek, much as she had always done. "As am I. My condolences on the death of your brother."

"My last brother." She said with a watery smile. "I knew I'd outlive them, much to my grief." His aunt took his arm. "Come, I must have words with you."

"I'm standing vigil-"

"And you'll still be standing vigil a few feet away from the crowd, sweetling. Come."

She walked them to a spot closer to the altar of the Crone. The burning oils there smelled of frankincense and Bergamot oranges. The woody, citrusness of it made his nose twitch.

"I leave on the morrow, with the procession to return him to his place, under the Rock. And I knew I couldn't leave without speaking to you, sweet Jamie." Her red lips smiled wistfully whilst her eyes grew slightly hard. She held the expectant look she had anytime he misbehaved in her presence as a child. _Why do I feel as though she is going to reprimand me? I am a man damn it._

"Jaime, look at you. All in white."

"I've been Kingsguard for nearly twenty years Aunt-"

"I am well aware of your position and the time. What I speak of is the position your family has been subjected to. You may wear white, and guard your king, but you are still a Lannister."

Jaime sighed. "My Lord Father has been giving me this speech for years."

Her eyes were sharp. "Do let me finish before giving your opinion on the matter." Jamie hummed and his aunt smirked. Speaking lowly, she continued, "as I was saying, you may not be your Lord Father or our sweet Tyrion, but you are still a lion of Casterly Rock, and I fear, your sister has wounded us deeply. Refusing to pay the Iron Bank, leaving us vulnerable for the Tyrells and the Martells and the entire bloody Reach, and now this nonsense with the peasants and the Faith. I warned you of the outcome. My fault for advising the wrong twin. My poor niece has always thought herself more clever than she is."

"All true, though talk accounts for little. What might you bid me do?"

"Protect your family, child. Fix this mess and quickly. Everyday passed with the Sword and Stars hanging over the crown undermines our power, makes it easier for others to challenge us. Your father worked hard to restore the fear and influence of house Lannister. Don't let it all be for naught."

They watched Paxter Redwyne and his twin boys approach the bier, kneel and head around the sept to light a candle.

"I spoke to your sister," his aunt began, "she seems certain the Tyrells murdered my dear brother.”

"It is plausible."

"Indeed it is. Though from what I gather, the Tyrells believe she is the one who had him murdered."

"Also plausible."

In that moment, she turned to him, eyeing him strangely. "It appears you have grown out of your twin's shadow."

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "I'm the same man I've always been."

She smirked. "If you believe so, sweetling. In truth, I do not believe my niece ordered my brother slain. She is capable of terrible things, I know, she has our ruthless nature, but kinslaying does not become her. Not yet at least. You know, she told me thrice that it was Tyrion, in cohorts with the Tyrells. Nonsense naturally, but the conviction in her eyes was real. She believes it was him. _Look to the arrows_ , she told me. Anyone can fire a bow. Anyone can frame a brother vanished."

She glanced at Jaime, a knowing glance. "I don't believe it was the Tyrells either. Kevan's recent actions as regent did in their favor and he set to restore our families' alliance, fickle though it may be. For the Thorn Queen to command as much would be more than folly. No," she said, "some other beast lies in the woods. Be it snake, or fish, or even wolf, I know not, though I trust you will have a fine time uncovering its tracks. Promise me you'll find whoever it is before they strike."

"You have my word."

"Good. Now excuse me, I shall go light candles for my dear brothers' souls."

Genna Lannister reached up and pulled his ear again before walking to the altar of the Stranger. Jamie returned to his place before the bier and stood there for nearly an hour before he spotted Ser Kevan's wife and remaining sons in the line. Jamie thought it queer they saw fit to make an appearance this late in the service. His Aunt Dorna Lannister, the poor plain thing that she was, now was red faced with watery eyes, dazed in agony. The younger boy, Martyn, held his mother by the arm, supporting all her weight. It was a strange thing to see, the grief of a widow. He remembered the Westerling girl and the torn sleeves of her dress. _I shall not be mourned thus when I fall_. His world, everything he's known had shifted. The woman he loved all his life was not who he believed her to be. His twin, the other half of himself was a stranger to him now, and that fact hurt worse than the throbbing of his missing hand. _Tyrion won't grieve me either. No. I will be alone at my grave._

When the trio reached the bier, Dorna wailed a piercing cry. She nearly collapsed against the young Martyn and it was quite the spectacle as those behind her feigned their courtesies; pretending to look away, whispering to one another. It sparked a flicker of anger within Jaime, and before he knew it, he was before boy and mother.

"Ser Jaime," his cousin said once he noticed him beside him.

"Coz." Jaime said in response. "Perhaps we should usher my aunt along."

The boy, clearly distressed, looked relieved. "Of course," he said. "Come Mother, come."

Her cries followed them out the doors. Lancel stayed behind, dressed in the grey, roughspun robes of the Sparrows, studying his father's corpse. It took a long moment for him to move on. He stopped beside Jamie.

"Seven blessings, cousin." His voice was a whisper. The boy looked healthier than last he saw him. His face was no longer gaunt and grey, but plumper, as it had been when he squired for Robert, and his colour had returned to him. _He's finally decided to eat._

"Yes," Jaime said, eyes drawn to the Seven Pointed Star carved into the boy's forehead, "my condolences for your father."

"He feasts in the Father's golden hall now." It had been the fourteenth time Jaime heard the phrase that morning, and he couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth.

"How sure are you that he feasts with the Father in the hall of laughter and merriment?" Lancel's brows drew together, confused. "If the Gods saw fit to reward my uncle, they would send him with Lord Tywin, and Father hated laughter. Surely, he would do something to cause the two of them a sentence to the hells instead."

Lancel scoffed. "The Gods are naught to jest of, cousin."

Jaime sighed and nodded slightly. "Of course, you're right. No harm meant. Would that someone lessened the weight of my father's death." _I’d have killed the man who told me that._

"I, I suppose there is no-" the boy's words stopped as he looked to the doorway. And in that moment, Jaime did the same.

His twin, the Queen Mother, walked down the length of the aisle with the king in tow. The crowd was all but gone and those who remained moved aside to let them pass.

Cersei was dressed much differently than she had been on her balcony. Where then she'd worn red silk that slipped against and passed her skin, exposing so much to him, now she was garbed much like that of a silent sister: high collar, long sleeves, the train of her black dress trailed a step behind her. The dress was wool, _my sister's wearing wool_ , and showed none of her curves. She'd a very thin golden tiara upon her short fluff of hair. They reached the bier and she all but ignored him, nose in the air, head held high. It was her way. Her way with him now as well.

Tommen, dressed in black, with a cloth of gold half cape, seemed as uncomfortable here as he did at his lord grandfather's funeral. Tears fell down the boy's cheeks, though he didn't turn to leave, to flee his mother and the corpse. The pair rose from their knees and walked to the altar of the Father.

It was then that Jaime remembered Lancel. The boy stared after his sister with an odd mixture of piety and longing. Odder still was Jaime's own regard to it, he held no anger, as once he would have. Now there was something like pity. _She won't love you boy,_ he should say, _love your Gods, that girl you cast aside, but not her. She was not made for your love_. Jaime thought the boy's devotion to the Gods would've snuffed that flame out. His cousin pursed his lips and looked to the floor. He walked to the altar of the Crone whilst Cersei moved to the Mother and again his mind would not relent.

_...fucking Lancel..._

She was at the Smith and he the Warrior.

_And Osmund Kettleblack..._

They reached the Maiden together, lighting candles and saying prayers. Tommen lit two and placed a gold dragon into the donation box beside him.

_...and Moon Boy for all I know._

For all he knew it mattered not.

_-he's lied to you a thousand times and so have I._

Not anymore. Jaime watched the boy king make the Sign of the Seven above his heart. _There is your purpose Lannister, that child, your son. You live for him now. Not for the Queen Mother. Not anymore_.

The queen left, with the monstrous Clegane in tow, once they exited the sept. Soon after the Sparrow came. It was the first he saw the man, and his appearance left Jaime disappointed. He was small, thin and shoeless, like some beggar, with grey hair and a face full of lines. His white woolen tunic reached his ankles, much like a night shift. The old man entered the sept with seven of his fanatics trailing him. Each one had the Seven Pointed Star carved into their foreheads, exactly like Lancel. Knights of the Faith, they call themselves. _These are the soldiers of your opposition._

The group knelt before the bier and the High Sparrow said a prayer that went on for much too long. The men assented with 'Amen', rose, and moved about the sept, going here and there, surrounding him as the old man zeroed in.

"Lord Commander," his voice was strong for his age, "my condolences. Ser Kevan was a decent, Gods fearing man. May the Father above judge him justly."

Jaime misliked the way the man stared at him. _He's appraising me, looking to see how best to manipulate me no doubt._ The thought made him bristle, though he didn't show it. The man was emboldened by his recent rise to power, and stank of arrogance. It was a musk Jaime wore his entire life. _I know how to deal with his sort._

Jaime shrugged. "The Father above saw fit to have a crossbow lodged in his chest, it makes you wonder if being decent and Gods fearing is worth it."

The old man smiled, quite condescendingly, leaving pricks upon Jaime's nerves. "A tragedy such as this can bring doubts, but I can assure you, Lord Commander, it is not for men to decipher the workings of the Gods. We do such at our peril."

Jamie nodded but cut his eyes at the man. "No, not men, but Sparrows I would figure you'd say. Tell me, do the voices of the Gods become clearer to the ear once you claim such nonsense? My cousin believes so."

"Sparrows are but men as well, Lord Commander; all children under the eyes of the Seven." The Sparrow's eyes were kind and Jaime again, narrowed his own. "Ser Kevan was a man blessed to see the importance of a united crown and faith. Some men are blinded that truth by avarice and ambition. I do hope you will see fit to continue his work and retain the bridge we've constructed."

It was all so bloody ridiculous and Jaime laughed outright. The act appeared to have taken the old Sparrow off guard and the man widened his eyes as his brows drew upward slightly. Jaime stifled his laughter after a moment but smiled sharply. "Ye men of faith...You're all the same. You claim to speak with the tongue of Gods but covet mortal gain; same as the men you condemn. You want this kingdom. That crown." The High Sparrow's eyes became stern at the affront. " _There_ he is. Do not fret, septon, you're not alone in this desire. My Lord Father wanted it too, and had it for awhile, before succumbing to a crossbow. I wonder if the Gods will see it fit to feather your chest with an arrow, but then, such thoughts are not for men to decipher."

The old Sparrow smiled pleasantly. "Do forgive me Lord Commander, I seem to have lost track of the hour and lingered too long. I've an appointment to attend. Good day."

Jaime nodded as the old man passed him. His seven Sparrows, Kingsguard would be a more appropriate choice of word, followed after him, into the crisp morning air. And Jaime was alone in the sept once more. He thought of the conversation he'd had with Ser Addam the day before. Your father would call this a cold war. _No_ , Jaime thought, _Lord Tywin would say it boiling._

Jaime met the man at evenfall. Humphrey Waters was older than him, closer in age to the late Lord Tywin, with a determined look about him and rather kind brown eyes for a man who held the position of Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing. As he sat across from him in the round room of White Sword Tower, Jaime had the opportunity to gauge the make of the man. Commander Waters dressed as befitted his station, armored over wool and boiled leathers, with a very clean golden cloak clasped about his shoulders. He was very clean, the man, and his breastplate and other metal coverings were buffed to a black shine that glinted against the flames from the hearth.

"Thank you for meeting me with such haste Commander," Jaime began, "it pleases me to know that the City Watch can be counted as brothers in arms to the Kingsguard."

Waters' face remained stern. "It is an honor to serve beside men who protect our king. I only hope the watchmen can lend sufficient assistance with your request, Lord Commander. With that said, what is your request, ser? Meetings are best kept brief during such times as these."

 _This is no lickspittle_. A fact that both pleased and irritated Jaime, he wasn't accustomed to being rushed along. _Were I two handed, I'd rash and rage most like. I could strike the man, but that would do against my purpose_.

"You're right of course." He smiled sharply. "We are in very troubling times; the Queen Mother waiting trial; riots in the streets of each district; heads of women found in pools throughout the city, but I'm sure you've heard of such before I. Pleasure killings make for rather annoying hunts." Waters pursed his lips. "Do tell me Commander, why have you not seen it fit to subdue this uproar of the smallfolk? The Sparrows roam about as though they were the law in the city, and not you."

"My lord," the man said befuddled, "the Faith Militant has been authorized by the crown. To take arms against them would be to bring arms against His Grace."

Jaime sighed and smiled at the man. "His Grace, my nephew, is a child. And the High Sparrow was given power when he shouldn't have. You see what the man's influence has done. There's anarchy." Jaime's eyes narrowed and much to his credit, Waters did not cow. _He may do nicely_. "The City Watch is tasked with keeping that king's piece, and even though you, Commander, weren't in charge during previous riots, I will not hold that against you. You're here now, and different accounts have assured me of your prowess. The king is a boy," he repeated, "which makes it all the more important now that his safety and the safety of the city be upheld."

Commander Waters nodded. "Spoken truly, my lord."

"I shall call upon you soon, Commander. Until then, increase your patrols. See that there are no more riots...and find that bastard killing the women as soon as possible. The city has problems enough."

The next morning, Jaime attended his first small council meeting. _The smallest council is right_ , he thought, as he walked to his chair. The other men looked on him with confusion and slight distaste, which rather annoyed Jaime. _They look as though I am not meant to be here. The sooner I replace this lot, the better._

He took a seat beside empty chairs, which so happened to be close to where his sister sat. She was out of mourning and dressed in a modest gown of forest green. She'd her thin gold tiara upon her head and emeralds at the lobes of her ears. Her monstrous Clegane stood immobile beside the wall directly behind her.

Once Jaime sat, Tyrell stood, albeit briefly, and blubbered a, "let us commence this meeting of the King's Small Council."

Concerns small and smaller were discussed for near an hour before the subject of regent was brought forth.

Mace Tyrell, red faced from too much wine and too much speaking said, "The subject of regent is of most precedent. As I am Hand to His Grace, as well as good father, it is only fitting that the position falls-"

Cersei cut in at that moment and Jaime knew what she would say before the words left her mouth. "Regent is no position to be decided upon by the small council, my lords. It is through the will of the Gods that king's are chosen, crowned, and protected. That protection comes strongest through blood. I am his mother, and queen to our dear late king for near sixteen years. No one can choose one to speak for and advise my son better than I. The title of regent shall be bestowed upon the Lord Commander." Delicate steel laced every word.

Qyburn quipped, "Her Grace is correct in this manner. The Lord Commander is the most appropriate choice for the position."

Tyrell's face became plumper, redder, and sweatier with indignation at each word against his claim. The Reach lords glared at his sister and the Hand looked a crimson bullfrog by the time Randyll Tarly spoke.

"The previous Hand chose Lord Tyrell personally to act in his stead. I do not claim to speak for the Gods, Your Grace, but blood isn't the only thing that holds crowns."

Cersei sighed and clasped her fingers together upon the table. "The musings of the dead, may the Gods grant my uncle peace, are nothing to the living, to the realm, Lord Tarly. The Seven Kingdoms shall have only the best qualified."

Paxter Redwyne stood and nearly sneered, pointing at Jaime as though he were the vilest of cur. "And naturally that would be your brother!"

Jaime had heard enough. "You forget yourself my lord!"

"I forget nothing, ser." He spat upon the floor, spat in insult. "You and your sister-"

"My lords, please-" Harys Swyft tried over their voices. "My lords!"

"Is your queen-,"

"Margaery is the queen, regardless of what,"

"My lords please!" Swyft shouted, slamming his fist upon the table. Every eye in the room fell upon the man. "Ser Kevan was my daughter's husband and mine own good son. He is fresh upon the bier and my sweet child is distraught. I think we can all agree to postpone the choosing of regent and Grand Maester to our next council meeting." His chinless neck jiggled with his words.

Cersei eyed Redwyne with all the hostility of a great cat ready to pounce. Jaime knew that look well. She will not forget this slight. He wasn't sure who he pitied more. He knew she wouldn't relent, and from the look of Tarly, Tyrell, and Redwyne, they wouldn't either. _Now was not the time for this. Soon, but not now_.

Jaime spoke through the stalemate. "It would appear that Lord Swyft is correct. I propose the matter wait until next we meet."

Mace Tyrell, red faced though he was, seemed rather pleased to see Jaime fold. "Let the motion pass and this council conclude for the day." He rose and bowed somewhat to the other members. "My lord, my lord, my lord...Your Grace."

His sister gathered herself in a flurry of green fabric and glared at him as she passed for the door. _I was right to skip these. They're naught but pissing contests, and Cersei has the biggest cock of all._

That evening he was restless. His blood ran hot, though strangely, he was in no mood for swordplay. _The mute will have to wait for the morrow._ Instead, he rummaged through the books in his bed chamber.

There were not a great many, and he was no great reader, but the few he did possess were quite engrossing. Tyrion had given him a rather scandalous one a few years back. It held the accounts of sailors and pirates, tales of women and woe and the sea, with illustrations of Myrish whores and the bare breasted priestesses of the Summer Isles and Lynese strumpets and Braavosi tramps. _You once told me you wouldn't have minded being a pirate_ , his brother said that nameday, passing him the book, _mayhaps your story would have held similar adventures_. Jaime smiled for a moment and flipped through the pages before placing it back on its shelf.

He picked up the one next to it instead. Tales of the Seven. A favorite of his brother's when he was seven. He found the book amongst Tyrion's things, after the dwarf's miraculous escape, and decided to take it. _It's about the Seven and I'm seven_ , he'd say, mismatched eyes wide, _can you read it to me?_ And Jaime would huff and say _you read as well as I_. To where Tyrion would simply reply _I've read enough today, now I'd like to listen._ And Jaime would go on _surely a servant can humor you or the maester_ , but Tyrion would shake his too large head and insist that _no one does the voices right, only you brother_. And thereafter, what could he do but oblige the imp? _Which tale shall I read? You'll only get the one_. The child always made a show of the decision-making process. _How about..._

"The Maiden and the Moon." Jaime said aloud to the empty room. Jaime read it thrice a fortnight for near two years. He sat upon one of his chairs, fingers moving across the pages and brightly coloured pictures, until he got up and placed it too upon the shelf. Jaime didn't think of the Maiden or the moon, or pirates and whores when he lay back on his bedding; he instead thought of his brother for a spell and soon his mind wondered to a different maiden.

 _They'd been in his camp for two nights and she slipped into his pavilion after most of the fires died. She objected to sharing his lord's tent, his lumpy straw bed, when he urged her to join him._ It is unseemly to do such in the midst of your campaign, Jaime. People talk, soldiers especially. I will tent with Lady Sansa. _He told her that the Others could take the talking people; told her that any soldier under his command wouldn't dare say a word against her in his presence, but she was intractable as ever and would not relent._

 _The brazier in the corner burned low, and Pia and Peck were nary to be seen. He couldn't find Little Lew Piper either, so he was forced to wash and dress himself. It took a ridiculously long amount of time and left him quite bitter._ Useless. _He felt his missing hand twitch in frustration. Not soon after, he heard her bootstep as she marched up the hill, crunching against the frozen grass. Jaime sat at the table near the dying fire, in a woolen tunic and breeches, comfortable enough to sleep in. There was missive after missive that had been received whilst he was away. Mayhaps the most important being the one from Cersei. His sister wrote that she'd walked naked through the streets from the Great Sept of Bealor all the way to the Red Keep. There wasn't much more, but he'd the feeling she didn't write as she pleased._ What have you gotten yourself into, sister?

 _He turned once she opened the door flap and entered. She was out of her armor, though she still wore the sword belt. She'd a thick cloak about her thick shoulders and her uninjured cheek was a blotchy red from the frost. Brienne stopped a foot or so into the pavilion, never looking up from the floor. She hadn't met his eye since he'd taken her the previous week in the Vale._ She's as skittish as a newly hatched chick.

_Jaime raised a brow and eyed her curiously. "My lady?"_

_"I, um." She took a deep breath. "I've come to tell you that we will leave soon."_

_"So soon as now? You're not near as hale as you should be. And your squire is still too weak to mount his own horse. Stay until my host sets to move south."_

_She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. "We can't remain here-"_

_He huffed and frowned. "By who's decree? Surely not my own."_

_"My lady wishes to see her brother, and-"_

Of course it was the Stark girl who was eager to leave _. "Her bastard brother is at the Wall. A long ways off."_

_"It is her wish, ser. And I am sworn to follow it."_

_He rolled his eyes. "Of course you are." Jaime gestured to her with his stump. "Is that all? You've come to inform me of what I'd have known come morning?"_

_"I, I also, I suppose..." her words trailed off._

_Jaime narrowed his eyes. He was on his feet in an instant and proceeded to her slowly._

_"You, you, you... what? What are you failing to say, girl?"_

_She blushed redder than a cherry. "Jaime, I wanted to, to talk about, you know."_

_He was a foot away from her when she finally met his gaze. She was nervous, that much obvious, but there was something else in her eyes. Something he could guess but was not certain of._

_"Enlighten me, Brienne."_

_She closed her eyes and sighed. "About the...Vale, the Eryie."_

_The corners of his lips drew upward slightly. "Would you like to discuss how the better choice would have been to kill Baelish? Like I said. Or perhaps you speak of that midnight ascent up the mountain on the back of an ass?" He smirked. "It was a first for me as well."_

_She pursed her lips. "Do you take anything seriously?"_

_Jaime smiled. "Not if I can help it. But do tell me what you are on about."_

_She was quiet, her courage gone it seemed._ That won't do _. He grasped her hand and she jerked a little at the touch. Skittish and wide eyed. Her innocence was strangely intoxicating._

_"I am honored you did not refuse me." He kissed the back of her hand and her breath hitched._

_"I-I don't think I could have."_

_Jaime turned her hand and kissed the side of it, where forefinger met thumb. "Good to know. Did it please you?"_

_He opened her palm and planted a kiss on the calloused ridge just before the fingers. She breathed deeply now. Her eyes sank lowly with lust._

_"Yes." She sighed._

_He pulled her into a kiss. It was gentle and he took his time exploring her mouth as she grasped his shoulders. She hummed somewhat when he broke them apart, resting her forehead against his own._

_"Shall I please you again?"_

_Her brows drew together, but after a moment. "I, yea, yes."_

_Jaime held her hand and led her to his pathetic straw mattress. She was bare to him in no time at all and when he kissed his way down her neck, past her collarbone and fatless teats, over the hard plains of her abdomen to meet the hair above her cunt, she paused, gasped._

_"Jaime, what are you-"_

_"Shhh," he hushed, "just relaxed." He nuzzled his nose against the mound of short, coarse hair and moved further down until he smelled her arousal, thick and sweet in his nostrils. He pushed her legs up with his forearms, giving him an excellent view of the folds, pink and rose and mauve, petaled before him. It was lovely, beautiful even, and the longer he looked, the more he smelled, the harder he became. His balls were tight._

_He breathed over her clitoris, more of a sigh really, and it caused her thighs to twitch against his arms. Jaime decided he'd had enough of waiting and gave her one long, slow lick of his tongue, from the bottom of her cunt to the top of her clitoral nub. She jerked against him and moaned a delicate noise._

_"Jaime." She sighed._

_Cersei was dewy and rich, tasted of honey; where Brienne was sweet, like sugar cane and wildflowers. He licked her again and again, each time thereafter driving his tongue deeper and deeper into her cunt. Her hands were in his hair, fingers running along the scalp. She squirmed and moaned, rubbing herself against his face in a circular motion. Brienne gasped when he took the nub into his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue along the soft bud._

_"Jaime," she gasped every so often, until her words and cries became mewling pleas. She sounded of a bitch in heat, or like female cougars when they mate._ She sounds divine.

_He slipped a finger into her heat whilst he teased the nub; and a second when the first slid out slick. Brienne moaned and whined and grunted as he pumped the digits in and out in a fine rhythm; begging him to go faster after a short while, though he kept his pace._

_She spasmed and cried his name when she came. The walls of her cunt clenched taut around his fingers. Jaime licked her clean until she stopped convulsing, held her thighs firm as they shook in her ecstasy._

_He lowered her legs and wiped his mouth and beard with his palm. She breathed deeply, slowly as she returned to herself. Her big horse teeth fell into a smile._

_"Jaime," she breathed. "That was..."_

_"Yes?" He smirked._

_"That was marvelous!"_

_She laughed then. It was the first time he heard the noise and he couldn't believe how dainty and girlish it was. He chuckled._

_"It pleases me you thought so." He kissed her. "Can you taste yourself? You've a lovely flavor, my lady."_

_She blushed. "No one's called me lovely before."_

_"Not hard to see why." Her smile disappeared and he instantly regretted his word choice. "But most people are dolts."_

_He kissed her again. "Forget about the people. I've more to show you at present."_

_He held her close and took her four ways. Each time she reached white hot bliss, she cried out his name with such abandon, such as Cersei never had. They ended with his face between her slick breasts, breathing raggedly, trying to catch his breath._

_"I should go," she finally said._

_Jaime looked up from her chest. "Now?"_

_"The sun will rise soon. I should be back in my tent before my lady wakes."_

_Shaking his head, he tsked. "She's nearly a woman grown. The girl won't perish if you don't see her raise from her bedding."_

_"No but," she tried to rise, and he adjusted his weight against her as to keep her beneath him. She narrowed her eyes and her mouth got stubborn. "What are-get up!"_

_"No." He smiled._

_"Jaime! The camp will be awake soon, the soldiers-"_

_"Will go about their morning, blissfully ignorant of the nocturnal activities of their Lord Commander."_

_"Get up." Her narrowed gaze melted into a glare._

_"If you're so troubled by words, my lady then I shall have any offensive tongues out." Her brows drew upward, and her eyes widened. "My current mute is rather fine company. What's the harm in a few more?"_

_"That's horrible." She stopped resisting against him. "I know you won't do that. How could you say such things of your men?"_

_She missed the point entirely. "My men are mostly smallfolk from my region and my lords bannermen have irritated me since we returned. Seeing you leave my pavilion would be just the excuse I need to-"_

_"Stop. Stop right now. I will not be a catspaw to any of this."_

_He smiled. "I jest Brienne and look," he tilted his head to the right wall of the tent; the red fabric began to lighten at the top, shifting to orange, "the sun has already risen. Your precious lady will have to ready herself without you."_

_She pursed her lips. "You did that purposely."_

_"Am I becoming predictable? We can't have that. That's death for a one-handed knight."_

_He kissed her again and she agreed to stay for a little while longer._

_He lay beside her, on his back, as she was hers, and looked at the roof of fabric as they spoke._

_"I suppose the Wall is as good a place as any for the girl."_

_He heard the sheets rustle beneath her as she nodded. "Her brother is Lord Commander now."_

_"I've read as much."_ Commanded by a boy _. The thought amused him. He remembered the lad from Winterfell. He'd a long face like his father and seemed just as dull. "You_ are _aware that women cannot become sworn brothers? The girl cannot live there, well not permanently at the least."_

_Brienne sighed. "I considered as much already."_

_"So, what will you do Brienne of Tarth?"_

_She was silent for a long moment. "I am not certain. And what of the younger Lady Arya. We must find her as well, our oath-"_

_"I am well aware of that Gods damnable oath. She can stay with the boy whilst you traipse about yelling 'Arya, is that you'." He laughed and she struck his arm._

_"It's not funny." She huffed._

_"I beg to differ, but I suppose I won't mock your optimism. Has the girl spoken of her brother?"_

_"No," she sighed. "The lady's said nothing apart from saying she wished to see him. She seems sad whenever I bring the subject up."_

_"Well, family will do that to you." He smirked, thinking of Tyrion, thinking of his father, thinking of Cersei. He's failed them all in one way or another._

_"I haven't seen my Lord Father in near three years. I miss him. I miss Tarth."_

_"Well going north will only make that longing more acutely felt. You said your rock was lush and green did you not?" She nodded and he snorted. "The north is as far from lush and green as the sun is to darkness. Endless barren roads await you, my lady."_

_She humphed. "If that is what it takes."_

_Jaime rolled his eyes. "So this father of yours, tell me, is he a giant as well?"_

_She glared at him. "Lord Selwyn is taller than me if that answers your question."_

_He hummed. "A curious thing indeed. Queer that the giant man had but one child."_

_Brienne rose to look at him. "My father had four children and he can yet have more." Her eyes were full of liquid emotion._

_"Had?" Jaime frowned._

_"I'd a brother who drowned when I was four and two sisters that died in the cradle. I, I'm all he has left."_

_Her brows drew together and he'd the overwhelming urge to kiss her. He didn't though._

_"You said your brother killed your father, and you set him free."_

_"Not in that order but yes."_

_"When you speak of your brother, or the lady of hers, it reminds me of the one I lost. We used to play on the beach and in the forest and whenever I fell or scraped my knee; he was there to comfort me. I remember I loved him."_

_"Memory tends to do that. It morphs things and makes you believe that the past were naught but a golden haze."_

_"No," she shook her head, flaxen hair moving about, "I have plenty of memories that can attest elsewise, but not with him. If I'd the opportunity to speak to him today, I'd jump at the chance. That's why the Wall isn't so bad an idea. Is your brother truly gone?"_

Yes, I killed your vile son. The cripple and the dwarf. If we should ever again meet, we will be equally matched.

 _"He is beyond my reach." His voice was small. He'd come to accept that his little brother had slain their father, that he had a hand in it, but they were both living, and Lord Tywin was amongst the dead. Tyrion used to say that he'd forgive Jaime anything, and Jaime found the same to be true with the dwarf._ I knew he'd kill Father eventually, deep down I knew, so can I fault him for it?

_"Well you should try again."_

_"You don't understand, I did something terrible when he was a boy and I told him the truth of it as I freed him from the black cells. The look in his eyes, Gods, the hate there."_ Tell me _, he said._ I should have told him nothing. I shouldn't tell Brienne this now.

_She touched his chest and he looked over, looked at her face. "He'll forgive you."_

_His brow furrowed. "How can you know that?"_

_Her smile was sad. "Because he loves you...how can he not?"_

Two days later, a morning funeral service for Grand Maester Pycell was held at the Great Sept of Bealor. A mass of people, peasants, lords high and low, ladies rich and poor all filed in the see the corpse. An orange haired young maester and an old knight Jaime knew not stood vigil for the slain man. He supposed they were from Oldtown. Nearly everyone there was of Oldtown in some regard or other, and the sheer influx of bodies gave him a headache. There are more people here today than there were at both Father and Uncle Kevan's funerals. _King's Landing holds no love for Lannisters_. There were but precious little who did it seemed.

He hadn't realized there were those who fancied Pycell, in truth. Jaime didn't feel the man amounted to much of anything and Cersei always insisted that he was an old letch, but still. Some women, mostly old and wizened as the corpse, left with tear stained faces and each man Jaime passed looked somber. A great flock of maesters in grey robes approached the bier with reverence, as though Pycell were a saint. It was all very strange.

Later, he stood sentry under the iron throne as Tommen held midday court. The day was warmer than it had been all week and the sun shone brightly through the high narrow windows of the throne room. Jaime forwent his normal winter raiment that morning and opted for the lighter tunic and breeches of autumn.

The small council sat upon their table, before the great steps and as the procession dragged on and on, growing dimmer and more boring by the word, Jaime was quite certain that he couldn't stand the sight of any of the men any longer. _First the Sparrows, Lannister, then you can do what you will with Mace Tyrell and his goons._

Tommen was as bored as he was, though Jaime hid it better. The boy shuffled and shifted every few moments, giving each matter presented him to the council of idiots to decide upon. By the time Tommen sighed one hundred and fifty-seven times, the old man and his daughter came before king and council. The woman could be Jaime's age, though he couldn't be sure, for her face was angular and thin from famine and woe, and the hollows around her eyes were deep against her greyish skin. She'd lusterless, brittle yellow hair that looked of straw, rather like Brienne's. And it made him wonder where she was now. The father was big and bent and grey and old, with a wheezing voice that rattled any time he coughed, and the man coughed frequently. They bowed and the man kept his eyes to the floor.

"What issue do you bring before His Grace, good man?" Mace Tyrell announced loud enough for all present to hear.

"The issue of a sickness, m'lord." He breathed heavily and the daughter spoke in turn.

"My father speaks of the illness that's consumed our village. We were seven hundred, my lord, in Pamler's Creek, outside of Rosby. The sickness came a fortnight past and one hundred people have already died. It is terrible to behold, my lord. We sought the Maester Melwys but he was unable to find a cure, or a cause and suggested we seek your help, Your Grace."

The hall was near silent as her words bounced off the cavernous walls and cloisters. There were gasps in the gallery and high ladies covered mouths with palm. Disease was bad enough but one hundred dead in a fortnight was unheard of.

Tyrell began to sweat. "And what- what are the symptoms of this illness?"

The woman continued. "It begins with fever and cough; my father has had the coughing for as long as I can remember. It is not of the sickness, but he has the black coal lungs. He worked in the mines his whole life. The fever breaks and then boils come upon the chest and neck, huge things. They are black as coal, the boils. After that is a fever, worse than before, hotter than all the hells it burns, and bile retched from the stomach, black as the boils. It goes on and the fever grows until they die, my lord. My," her voice cracked, and tears fell down her gaunt cheeks, "my mother was taken, my lord. And my husband and two boys. I promised them I would see His Grace before they died. Please, please help us."

There was loud murmuring then, traveling the room like buzzing in a hive. Jaime looked to Tommen and saw worry there. He nodded at his son, to reassure him that things would be okay. It seemed the right thing and Tommen addressed the woman.

"Good woman, I will send the assistance you request. My lords of the council shall see to the details." He smiled at the woman as fresh tears wet her face.

"Thank you, Your Grace." She cried. "Thank you."

Tyrell spoke as the woman sobbed. "Four of the city's most accomplished maesters will go to this village and investigate the illness. They shall bring with them provisions enough to treat all infected. May the Gods grant us mercy."

That evening, the sky was bruised orange and pink by the spreading darkness and the colours were visible from the dining hall of the king's apartments. When things were finished, Tommen climbed down the ridiculous number of steps of the throne and spent much of the remainder of the day following Jaime about. "Can I spend some time with you, Ser Uncle?" The king asked. And since he'd no pressing matters, Jaime shrugged. "Why not?"

They walked to the practice yards and Tommen asked him about swords and lances and how come some knights are better at jousting than others if they are all trained the same. He told Jaime that he wants to joust, like Ser Loras does, but Mother doesn't let him practice. Time flew quickly enough and Jaime decided to take dinner with the king and Queen Mother.

Cersei eyed him suspiciously as he entered the dining hall behind Tommen. She'd a fresh gown for dining and dressed modestly as a septa, as she had since he's been in the city. That night shapeless, crimson fabric covered her from neck to toe. Tommen took the seat beside her and Jaime sat across them. Servants brought dishes of buttered green beans, crisp salads with tomatoes, apples, and nuts, and bowls of roasted roots and squashes for the first course.

Tommen was in a pleasant mood, and as he poked a potato with his fork, he turned and spoke to his mother. "I had fun today."

Cersei smirked. "Did you, sweetling?"

"Yes." He said as he ate the root. "I sat through the court and that was rather boring but after, I spent time with Uncle Jaime and he showed me how to hold the lance best for when you joust."

"That was kind of your Uncle Jaime." She looked at him with eyes that cut. "How was the court?"

"It was boring, Mother, like always. When will you come back to the council? The chair hurts my butt and I have to sit for so long."

His sister sighed and looked at her son. She spoke sharply, such as she wouldn't do with Joff. "Aegon's throne was not constructed for comfort. A king should never sit easy, Tommen. Idle kings are oft deposed. Aegon knew it and so did your Lord Grandfather." Tommen looked to his plate, dejected. She sighed in irritation and continued, gentler. "It is time you've learned this. Times are trying, sweetling, we have no room for error. Our enemies are all around us."

She held his hand closest to her and he looked up. "Okay Mother." Tommen ate more food before speaking again, having come to some realization. "Do you mean the people who took you away? Do you mean the High Sparrow?"

Cersei pursed her lips. "That man is no septon. Or a Sparrow. He is but a charlatan who is using the Faith as a means to rally the peasants against us." She stabbed a round cherry tomato with her fork.

"I don't want them to take you away again- I won't let them take you anywhere, Mother!"

She smiled at Tommen then and it was sad and lovely. "I will never leave you again, sweetling. My place is by your side."

The fish course came next: Blackwater Salmon baked in a buttery flour crust, served with lemon sauce with sprigs of dillweed over roasted asparagus. Tommen chippered at the dish, the cook made his shaped as a kraken, and he turned to Jaime. "How were your travels in the Riverlands, Uncle Jaime?" He noticed Cersei's eyes upon him. He smiled and answered the boy's eagerness.

"Rather uneventful. The revolt is completely subdued." _Until the Blackfish resurfaces mayhaps_. "The smallfolk there have suffered greatly from the war but they're resilient as far as I can see, and I'm sure they will recover in a year or two. We'll have Riverland Salmon once again come spring."

The child's eyes were alight. "Did you slay any monsters?"

"Monsters?" Brienne flitted through his mind then. She, the sword, that evenfall outside the cave of the Brotherhood Without Banners, and the ghoulish remains of Catelyn Stark. _The wench couldn't dispatch her, so I had to_. "No, Tommen, I believe my monster slaying days are behind me. Though, I did bring more than a few deviants to justice."

The king gasped. "Truly?"

Jaime smirked. "Yes."

He took another bite of food. "Did you-"

"Chew with your mouth closed! I won't tell you again." His sister snapped at the boy.

He chewed and swallowed and spoke. "I apologize, Mother." He turned back to Jaime; his remorse forgotten instantly. "Did you fight with your left hand?"

Jaime couldn't help his smile. "You can say as much. I found my right painfully unreliable." He winked and Tommen laughed.

"Did you save any maidens?"

Jaime's eyes flickered to his sister, quite against his will. He felt the heat of her gaze against his right cheekbone. Images of the girl Mya in the Vale crossed his mind. Of the midnight voyage that was sitting upon a mule, following her up ceaseless steps carved into mountains whilst the wind and snow whipped sharp against his cheeks. He thought of Littlefinger's arrogance and peppermint breath whilst he bluffed his way through each of the short man's sly questions. He thought of Brienne's face once she saw Sansa Stark. _There was so much trust, so much gratitude in her big blue eyes._

Jaime shrugged. "I suppose I did. I saved maidens and crones, children and babes. Our army stopped the slaughter of green boys and old men. What's left of the peasants are surely singing your praise, Your Grace."

Tommen snorted. "I don't know, Ser Uncle. You're more of the knight from the stories. They may sing about you."

Jaime laughed. "No one will sing of me, Your Grace."

The meat course was brung forth. Steaked beef seared in garlic and Dornish olive oil, cut thinly, and served with bowls of sharp orange cheese sauce. The servants brought long flutes of breads, hard at the crust but pillow soft inside. Jaime had taken a tear of the bread when a fat black beast of a cat jumped upon Tommen's lap. "Ser Pounce!" The boy exclaimed.

 _Ser Pounce?_ Jaime chuckled to himself _. Such a name for a cat._

Tommen rubbed the feline behind the ears, upon the belly, and made his way to the tail before Cersei finished her wine.

"Put that beast back on the floor."

The child ignored his mother and petted the cat's belly again. Jaime heard him purr.

"Tommen." Her voice was stern, and her eyes became stone. "Now."

"I don't want to," he whined, "he's happy here."

"Now, Tommen-"

"I'm the king. The king does as he wants. I want to pet Ser Pounce!"

"Tommen," her voice slowly rose, "you may be the king, but I am your mother, and you will do as I say! Put the cat on the floor now!"

Tears sprang to the boy's eyes. "I don't want to."

"Tommen!" She sighed. "Tommen, you're a little boy. You have to listen to adults, especially your mother. Tommen-"

"I don't want to put him down," he cried outright now.

"Stop whining. Kings don't whine. Put the cat on the floor now or elsewise you shall not have him to play with after you finish this meal."

He sniffled and wiped his palms across his face. "Okay." Tommen placed the cat on the floor and urged him along. "Go now, Ser Pounce."

The cat stretched and yawned and looked back at the table bored, before strolling to the courtyard. Tommen crossed his arms about his chest in a huff, but after a moment, "Can I have an apple tart?"

Cersei ate a bite of her steaked beef. "Apple tarts are for good boys who listen without objection, can you obey your mother?"

"But I'm the king!" He whined again. "I can do what I want now-"

Jaime laughed. It was ridiculous and seeing someone blatantly disobey her in such a manner was all the more humorous. _You're losing your hold on him, sweet sister._

She glared at him before turning to Tommen. "You are the king, but I know what's best for you. You will make your own decisions once you come of age, with the help of your advisors."

"But-"

"But nothing. I know what's best for you now."

He sniffed. "Alright Mother."

"I love you very much." She held Tommen's cheek.

The king looked upon her face. "I love you too."

They sat in silence for a while after, finishing the savory dishes before sweet delicacies were presented. Tommen ate his apple tart and cakes whilst Cersei eyed Jaime with suspicion. _She wants to know what truly happened in the Riverlands_. _She can want all she likes, but she will not receive it from my lips_. He raised a glass of wine to her before drinking it down. The Queen Mother rolled her eyes in turn.

"Can Uncle Jaime see me to my chamber, Mother?"

Cersei tilted her head and studied her brother. "I suppose he can. If the task isn't too much for him to handle, he does have but one hand, sweetling."

Jaime pursed his lips and rose to his feet. "One hand will surely suffice for the harrowing task, Your Grace."

Tommen placed a peck of a kiss upon his mother's lips and followed Jaime out of the hall. The king's apartments and bed chamber were lit and warm when they arrived. The boy went to sit upon his crimson chaise lounge and a slim black cat nestled betwixt his legs.

"Lady Whiskers," the king said in greeting, "where have you been?"

Jaime watched his son for a moment and turned to leave but stopped when the child spoke. "Uncle Jaime, can you teach me to be a knight? I didn't want to ask in front of Mother. She doesn't let me do anything. She acts like I'm a baby."

"Being a knight isn't as glamorous as it may seem."

"I know, but I want to fight like you and Ser Loras. And I want to joust in tournaments too. Ser Loras does very well, and I want to be better at it. He doesn't fall from his horse like me."

Jaime decided to sit next to the boy on the daybed. He looked up from his cat, looked at his face as he spoke. "I miss Margaery too." He was quiet, sad. "Mother doesn't like her or Ser Loras, but if I were better at fighting, mayhaps...mayhaps she wouldn't have been taken away. I could have saved her and Mother too."

"Tommen." He said the name softly. _This one's a gentle child_. "Tommen," he sighed, "you need two hands to joust and regrettably I've but the one." Jaime smiled crookedly. "I can't teach you the way of it, child. Not properly."

The king sighed as well and scratched the cat's ear. "Alright."

"But I can find a suitable teacher for you and oversee the man's methods to ensure that you will be a force against all opponents once you grow. The secret to being the best is practice. It is as such with any matter. My left hand," he squeezed the palm shut as he looked at it, "is not as it should be whilst I wield swords. A master at arms will be more sufficient than myself."

"The master at arms doesn't let me do much. I always do the same things and the other boys-"

"You are not the other boys, Your Grace. You are the king. The lives of the other boys are worth less than yours. That's why it's okay for them to get hurt."

Tommen crossed his arms about his chest and huffed. "I don't even want to be king. I can't do anything."

Jaime chuckled. "I can understand the sentiment." _Shall I confess his parentage now? Would he even believe me?_ He wondered how the boy would truly react to the prospect of trading a crown for a father.

"Get some rest, Your Grace. We can speak more of this on the morrow."

"Okay, Ser Uncle. Sleep well."

The walk to White Sword Tower was cold, unlike the rest of the day, and uninterrupted. The moon was bright and full, and its light cast a celestial glow upon his white armor. A fire was in the hearth of the Round Room, blazing away below the longswords and shield. Jaime sat in his chair and opened the White Book. He read a few more pages, of men more deserving of celestial white armor than himself, before turning to his page and rereading the sorry excuse for content. _Too bloody short_ , he thought before grabbing a quill and ink jar.

He penned his latest addition in the same spidery handscript as all his other entries. _It looks atrocious, but how will you fix it?_ Jaime sighed and took a gulp of the wine before him. _That won't help either_.

_What should I put now? Ah, yes..._

Peacefully lifted sieges of Riverrun and Raventree, reclaiming them in the name of the crown. Restored order to the war torn Riverlands _. I shall even add pieces of my ordeal with Brienne._ Defeated the Brotherhood Without Banners. Slew their leader, a ghoulish woman by the name of Lady Stoneheart. Saved the daughter of a high lord from nefarious forces with the assistance of the Maid of Tarth. He paused his writing. _A lie_ , he thought. The only one on this page.

_"...and so, I yelled sword." The wench's downcast eyes looked toward the corner of the room, away from him._

Good. She bloody well should be upset _._

 _Jaime heard a sniffle soon after and saw a tear roll down her injured cheek. With the wrappings gone, her peeling, crimson wound looked evermore angry, striking against her pale, freckled skin. In that moment, Brienne tried to turn her head away from him further, tried to crumple herself into the wall beside the bedding she sat upon to hide her shame._ I wonder if hers tastes just as sour as mine.

 _Her chin trembled then, a pathetic movement, and Jaime sighed. He didn't know what came over him, his anger was slipping_. I should rage. This child sought to lead me to my death. _When he grasped her elbow, it surprised him too._

 _Brienne gasped and met him with wide, watery eyes._ Eyes like the ocean _._ She looks like some beast taken down during the hunt. _The blue of her gaze shone._

_"Jaime, I..."_

_He said nothing, responded only in applying more pressure to his grip; and as his hand held her tenderly, it was almost a caress. Almost._

_"They would have murdered Pod," she managed._ Let the boy die, I've killed children _. "They would have hanged Ser Hyle."_ Good bloody riddance _. "If not for them... I would have given my life for yours in an instant. I said as much to the Lady Stoneheart."_

Stupid, brave wench. _"Then you're as stupid as you are ugly." His malice rang hollow to his own ears whilst faced with such eyes._

_"Jaime, I'm sorry. I couldn't dream of hurting you." More tears fell. "I didn't know what to do. I would rather have died Jaime." Her eyes were hard through her tears. He remained silent but kept her gaze. "I would rather die than see you hang, Jaime."_

_Brienne twiddled her large fingers together and looked down into her lap. Jaime leaned forward a bit, moved his hand to her palm, threaded their fingers, and pulled the grasp closer to his person. It forced Brienne to look at him._

_"I- Jaime. I'm not a true knight. I'm not a knight, Jaime, I know, but I tried to do..." she trailed off, finding something in his face that silenced her._

_"What a knight would." He finished. Her Podrick was a child, an innocent, and a far more appealing rescue to anyone than an old, crippled, disgrace._ Such a wretch I am.

_If possible, her eyes became sadder, her expression evermore hopeless. "But I'm not a knight. I am a fool-"_

_He rose from his chair and kissed her. Chaste at first, applying enough pressure to her chapped, plump lips to elicit a gasp. Jaime brushed his thumb against her wet cheekbone before deepening the embrace. As he ran his tongue along the front of her teeth, Brienne's breath hitched. Until that point, her hands stayed frozen in place. When he leaned into her, resting his useless stump against her shoulder, running his fingers into her thin hair, she moved her hands to his chest and grazed it lightly, almost afraid to touch him further._

_Jaime was livid. With her. With himself._ She shouldn't have been in any of this mess to begin with. Not trying to honor some ridiculous pledge to the corpse of Catelyn bloody Stark. _He ran his palm along her jaw._ Not having to try and save her squire and that dolt Hyle Hunt. _Jaime pulled back, biting her lip. Her eyes went wide with disbelief._ Not being resolved, no determined, to trade her life for mine _. Brienne was brave._ Stupid and brave.

_He teased her lips apart once more and met her tongue with his own. She tried to flatten the muscle against her bottom teeth, shying away from him, but he was persistent. Jaime held her bruised neck, craning her scarred face upward, to give him more access to her mouth. He licked her tongue. He lapped her tongue. He teased her until she whimpered under him. He kissed her well and broke apart only when forced to breathe._

_"You're truer than any knight living." The words were almost a sneer. Almost. There was no jest in them, only anger._

_Brienne stared at him with wide, doe like eyes. Her tears were gone. Her face was flushed. Her breath came heavy between her horse teeth and Jaime knew he couldn't stop there. His blood was up and she was warmer than summer. She was honorable, mayhaps more so now than ever before. She was all those things he should have been, but he would have let her Podrick die; would have watched that Hyle swing; might have taken his own head._ Goldenhand the Just indeed _._

 _He deflowered her, violated her, as she'd once said he'd done his sweet sister, and he could find not a concern. Jaime could be cross with himself. His wrath caused her tears. His lust stained her purity. His greed kept her close and he'd taken her twice. He wouldn't though_. I'm not prone to apologies.

 _Natheless, it was a strange thing to lay with a woman not Cersei. His mind raced whilst his body reacted to Brienne. He was accustomed to rash, rocky couplings. He and Cersei were ever quick; had been so for far too long; death loomed above their trysts. It supplied it's own allure to fucking her, the danger, but now, with Brienne, he was quite ill-fitted. He wanted very much to kiss her roughly and drive her swift to the edge of pleasure. He'd been without a woman for too long and his body was far too eager for a snail's pace. Yet and still, Jaime held firm._ Be gentle _, he told himself._ You must needs be gentle with her. Your cock has to be tender.

 _And he was as tender as he could be, until he could no longer. She came long before he did,_ maidens _, and then again whilst he was on the cusp of his bliss. She was so tight against him that it took his breath away. Jamie knew he would soil no maid more, two was his fill; and though his sister fit him like a glove, Brienne was something else entirely. She was like a part of himself he didn't know missing and being inside her was more than home, moving within her made him whole._ A foolish thought. It's been nearly a year since I'd a woman last. No woman can replace a hand.

_Afterward, Jaime's hand lightly rubbed the cheeks of her arse. Her head lay upon his chest, and he held her close as her fingers played with the hair there. Brienne's knee was hitched up, against his thigh, and so his fingers would trail the line of her arse every so often._

_"I am no longer a maid." Her voice was small, almost in awe. Jaime looked down at her. He looked into her blue eyes and snorted._ How could one so large and lumbering be such a silly thing of a girl?

 _"It would appear so." He couldn't help his chuckle as he leaned forth and pressed his lips against hers. When he pulled back, she looked at him in that strange way she had when she saw him in the White Sword Tower, before the Book of Brothers._ She wore that horrid blue dress and I donned white for the first time in over a year. It must have been the first she saw me with some semblance to the man I was before the Young Wolf. I wasn't filthy and covered in rags.

_"Would you have done the same?"_

_He didn't have to ask to know her meaning. "I killed my king, remember. Murdering a corpse would make no difference."_

_Brienne rose to rest upon her forearms. "But my oath-"_

_"What have I told you of oaths? To make one is to break another. Calm your gentle heart, Brienne. You've done as any gallant knight would. Were Ser Dunken the Tall or Aemon the Dragonknight given the same choices, I am confident they would have performed each task with not a difference."_

_Her brows drew together. "Do you mean that?"_

_Jaime hardened his eyes. "I do."_

_She kissed him and Jaime felt a flicker of pride swell within his chest. He was a white cloak, soiling her, shaping her into something akin to himself._ She's leaving her idealism behind and coming to terms with the harshness of reality. I should stop this. _He should, but he wouldn't._ I am a man of pleasure, not of sense.

 _Only one lie; and not mine to tell_. He dusted the page with pounce to dry the fresh ink. Jaime settled back in his chair and watched the flames in the hearth for a moment _. I wonder if she is warm. Most like not. She should have slipped into the north by now_. The thought made him frown. _Father, keep her safe_.

Soft grey clouds overcast the sun and left the sky a light shade of pale orange when Addam Marbrand told Jaime of the knights and the brothels. It was three days since his dinner with Tommen and the Queen Mother, and Jaime felt it time he began his own reconnaissance of the Sparrow force.

He went about the city on one of his blood bay stallions, the one with the coat more cherry red than brown and was near the Street of the Sisters when Marbrand caught up to him.

"Did you hear about Crysto and his men?"

Jaime raised an eyebrow as their mounts trotted past a breadmonger's cart. "Enlighten me."

"They were attacked just before dawn. Sparrows stormed the establishment and caught them unawares. Crysto's head is a bloody ruin. They also killed Ser Qyle Sarsfield and Jorge Serrett. The men are up in arms. Serrett's brother wants to kill every fanatic he sees now. I had to step in after hearing that he'd slain four Sparrows. It seems things are coming to a head."

Jaime frowned. "It seems you're right. Have your patrols deduced an amount for our opposition?"

Addam pursed his lips. "It's hard to say. It could be ten or twenty thousand. More people come to the city each day with the Star carved into their heads. I'll tell you what, that takes mettle and madness."

"You've the right of it. I spoke to Lancel during my uncle's funeral service and couldn't tear my eye from it. Lunatics, the lot of them." Jaime reached a decision. "We'll close the gates to travelers. Tyrell and Redwyne's armies have yet to leave the city and I can make peace enough with them for a truce. The daughter's arrest and trial is as much a slight to their house as Cersei's is to mine. I shall send word to Daven that he is to send a host to the city. Twenty thousand you say?"

Marbrand raised an eyebrow, smirking. "At the least."

"Mayhaps we should have three times that amount. It won't give the men much sport, but I suppose it will be more efficient. The lion cannot always play with his prey."

Three days later, Jamie forwent his white armor and cloak in favor of the crimson breastplate and golden pauldrons of Lannister armor. He had dressed as a common foot soldier and marched along the streets of Flea Bottom with a patrol of twenty good men. He'd even worn gloves to hide his useless gold hand; black, soft, inlaid with sable fur, and leathered. His purpose was to find the High Sparrow's nest, and he'd a feeling it would be where the filth piled highest.

The smell of shite was nearly overwhelming as they moved down Channel Lane, across Black Dragon Square, through Red Speckle Alley. Children ran by every so often, barefoot and in tatters. The men they passed were grim and grimy, with dirty beards and cutthroat stares. The women were bone thin or poxed whores or bent, old crones. Ofttimes, they were a combination of the three. All looked upon Jamie and his men with contempt and suspicion. When they reached a more congested area of the slum, there were calls of _'Murderers!_ ' and _'Red Devils!'_ , though no one engaged beyond that. It all rather annoyed Jaime. _King's Landing holds no love for Lannisters. Excellent job, Father. Peasants remember slights the longest._

At the four-point corner, there was a crowd and quite a stir outside of a dilapidated sept. A Poor Fellow stood upon a box and yelled of the will and power of the Gods, of how the king is naught but an abomination, of how the queen consorts with demons and that her punishment shall be swift and just. The crowd shouted in angry agreement. Jaime and his men watched as the man told the crowd that the Gods have heard the pleas of the oppressed. He said that salvation was here, that the High Sparrow shall climb high and cast the unholy from their gilded pedestals. He noticed the soldiers behind the congregation and Jaime felt the man's eyes. He said that the lion shall soon know the plight of the lamb.

Two of his men wanted to attack but he shook his head. _Now is not the time for swords_. On they went; to Black Bread Row and Kerny Lane, to Mother's Way and Poor Man's Walk. Here and there they saw men angry and angrier, until their march stumbled upon a bit of a riot and Jaime dispatched the men to subdue the excitement. _Brothers in arms, I told him_. It made him laugh _. Who'd have guessed I'd do the work of a watchmen? Father, if you could see me now._

He stood in wait as his men moved about, shoving and shouting, and it was then that Jaime saw him. Plump as ever, but in the robes of a septon, head hooded with a cowl. His feet moved before his mind and when the man noticed his approach, he turned to flee. He didn't run outright but moved through the bodies of the crowded streets with such haste that Jaime pushed enough people to the floor to receive nasty looks. They twisted and turned through alleys and side streets until, quite suddenly, they were encased by walls at least fifty feet high. The alley was dank, with black sloshes of snow across the cobblestoned path and filth in each corner. There was a dead end before them, and his prey had nowhere to go.

_A fitting place to dispatch this vermin._

"The end of this path," the eunuch said in the dulcet tones of the deceptive, "it would appear you've caught me, my lord."

Jaime stopped a few feet behind him. "I suppose I have."

The eunuch lowered his cowl and turned. His face was dirty, like any other Sparrow, though his feet were not bare. Jaime's palm rested upon the hilt of his sheathed sword, and the eunuch's eyes flickered to the movement. His brows drew together and his honied voice wavered. "Are you going to kill me?"

Jaime pursed his lips and tilted his head. "We shall know in moments. Tyrion slew my father, but you were aware of such already." The right side of his mouth curved into a snarl. "By all regards, someone should die to avenge his name."

The eunuch nodded slowly. "And many have, my lord of Lannister. I hear the number of dwarf heads the sweet queen has received is well over seven hundred." Jaime pursed his lips. "I couldn't have stopped your brother had I tried, but I do offer my sincerest condolences for the loss of the late Hand."

"Why are you in this city, Varys?" Jaime demanded. "Why aren't you in Essos with Tyrion?"

_Has he abandoned him as well? Since the Spider was here, did that mean his little brother was dead?_

The eunuch shrugged. "I merely returned to bid an old friend farewell."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."

"And your brother is no longer in the east. He sits at Dragonstone with Daenerys Targaryen and her armies...and her dragons. You should know that he has climbed his way up to being her Hand."

Jaime was shocked, though he didn't show it. _Tyrion is Hand to the Mad King's daughter. Are we doomed to remain on opposite sides now? He'll forgive you. Because he loves you. Would that she were right..._

The eunuch went on. "This game being played, between your sister and brother will only lead to death, my lord. The young queen will take any method to reclaim the realm. She has already strayed to the less than conventional."

"Why are you telling me this? You stand there with your secrets. Are you not sworn to the dragon child now?"

The eunuch sighed. "My allegiance lies with no king or queen, my lord. I serve the realm. And now the realm needs peace. Your brother believes you would do the just thing, given the opportunity. I wonder if he is correct."

"My brother." Jaime snorted. "My brother swore red war and vengeance upon myself and my house, eunuch. I do not know if you are more full of shite now than you were last I saw you."

_Still, if Varys does speak truly, mayhaps I can bridge the gap between us...he'll forgive you, how can he not?_

Having come to a decision, Jaime closed the distance between he and the eunuch and hardened his expression. "I will not slay you this day."

"You have my gratitude, my lord."

"Don't thank me just yet, eunuch. You've another purpose. You shall take a message to Tyrion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a beast at over seventeen thousand words. Jaime talks a lot in my head, but that's why we love him. Thank you so much for reading and leaving your thoughts. It means the entire world and everyone of the seven kingdoms. 
> 
> UPDATE:  
> So I edited this monster a second time, after posting. It was full of mistakes and disgustingly embarrassing. If something looks wrong, please disregard. As always, thanks for reading.


	3. Brienne II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein walks along the beach can give the best clarity.

She was back in the Riverlands. It was morning, a pale gray morning, and she was in the hangman's forest, not far from the cavern of the Brotherhood Without Banners. Brienne was alone, with the sour smell of death all around her, and she stood before the crooked willow that was to be her own hanging tree. 

_How have I returned?_ She wondered. 

Wind rustled the leaves above her and she heard the caw of carrion crows, the ambient sound crackling in her ears like lightening, over and over again. When she looked up at the branches, her heart near stopped in her chest. Willow and some of the other orphan children from the inn stared at her from the end of slightly frayed ropes, faces purple and bloated, gray eyes sightless in death. They were on the lowest branches. Above them swung Elder Brother from the Quiet Isle and beside him was Hyle. Both held the twisted expressions of the strangled. Their eyes were plucked from their sockets, the flesh of their faces ripped with gaping holes. 

"No", she gasped. "No, no, no..."

Up and up she looked. Her father's corpse was too heavy to swing properly and only shifted slightly with the wind. He was long dead, with most of his face chewed away, with his eyes gone, with his chest and throat and stomach torn apart, with his entrails, lusterless and shriveled and blackened, hanging low like a million dreadful strings below his boots. Tears streamed hot down her cheeks. 

"Father." she sobbed. "Father, no. I'm sorry." 

Her gaze moved to the dead girl on the branch adjacent to his. The lady's white skin was pale in death. Her Tully blue eyes bulged and seemed to stare at her in accusation. A crow landed upon her head and pecked the left one out. And on the highest branch, above the rest, was Podrick, her poor squire. He looked mournful; he grimaced, his eyes were closed, his brows were drawn, for the tension was not released in death. The skin of his cheeks were eaten through and the bones of his teeth were visible. His nose was gone. His skin was graying with rot. Brienne wheezed a terrible wail at the sight. _Not Pod. I was to keep him safe. Not Pod._

She stepped back, snapping a branch, and in an instant, every dead eye in tree turned their gaze upon her. Their mouths, what remained to each of them, snarled in hatred.

"You failed us." They spoke as one. 

"I'm sorry." She cried. "I'm so sorry." 

The crows joined in, cawing "Failed!" "Failed!" "Failed!" from their perches in the tree.

"You failed." The voices rose, becoming angrier. "You failed. You failed! YOU FAILED!"

"No!" She yelled. "No, no please, no. No-," 

Brienne heard footsteps behind her, crunching grass and shifting rock, and turned before she could stop herself. It was the Lady Stoneheart. The dead woman's mouth was twisted with a smile and she held a round, mound of golden haired creature in her clawed hands. She turned the object and presented it to Brienne, almost as an offering. 

The dissonant voice crepitated and splintered like breaking ice. "You've finally fulfilled your oath, child." 

It was Jaime's head. His eyes were gone, giving way to black sockets that scorched holes straight through her soul. His face, his beautiful face, was torn by claw and beak and fang, leaving deep trails of gashes along the cheeks, along the forehead, and great chunks were ripped away. His lips were black. His skin, his slightly golden skin, was now pallor and mottled with greenish black decay. 

Brienne's legs gave out at that moment. She fell to the ground with a thud. She couldn't breathe.

The head smiled; a ghastly smile and his perfect teeth were now grimy black. 

"You've kept our oath, wench." His voice was grizzled and each word was a thousand knives to her heart. She wanted to scream, to cry, to slice the Lady Stoneheart through, but she couldn't move. She couldn't speak. He laughed then. The guffaw was similar to the howls and cackles he threw her way when she had him chained. It was similar but not the same. This was grotesque. This was unholy.

"Tell me," he husked, "is it still so easy?" 

Brienne awoke with a start. Her breath came heavy and she couldn't seem to get enough air. She rose upon the bedding, sitting up, and grasped her chest as she panted, open mouthed. The need to vomit was strong and as her stomach flipped and turned, she couldn't stop herself from retching upon the floor; though nothing came forth. After a while, she was calm enough to cry. Her tears were ceaseless and her body shook with sobs. 

_I couldn't save them_ , she thought, _they were all dead_. 

It was an evil dream. And though a dream it was, that didn't keep her from feeling responsible or useless. Her father, Lady Sansa, the children she met and Hyle, or the Elder Brother, and Pod, Pod especially. She couldn't live with herself if some woe befell Pod. And Jaime. The laugh from her dream rang true in her mind. Jaime... _That would never happen. Lady Stoneheart is dead. Jaime killed her, I was there. I, I couldn't do it. But Jaime did._

After a longer while, she composed herself and took in her surroundings. She was on a bed. It was soft and large enough to hold her long frame. _Where am I?_ She was in a room but unlike any room she'd ever seen. The walls were the colour of wet sand and looked like dried gray/brown clay. Pale pink light shone upon a small section of the floor in four square shaped patches and was cast from a small window of rose coloured glass. The room was also square and cornered with a soft, rounded ceiling. There was a fire pit in the center and another bed with a body- _Pod!_

_Podrick is alive!_ Her mind sang in joy. _Pod's okay._

His bed lay at the opposite end of the room, close to an open doorway. She couldn't see much beyond that. 

"Pod," she called softly, but the boy didn't stir. _Mayhaps he's asleep_. From her bed, she could make out the rise and fall of his breathing. _He is alive. Thank the Gods._

"Hello!" She yelled. "Is anyone there?"

There was no reply. 

_You have to get up, Brienne. You have to rise._

She willed her arms to move, pushed her weight up with them and somehow, made it to her feet. It was perhaps the hardest thing she'd ever done; easier thought than achieved surly. As she tried to walk, _simply enough Brienne, one step and then another_ , she almost fainted. Her head swam. _Thank the Gods the bed broke my fall. What is wrong with me?_

Getting herself back upon the bed was harder than rising from it. After an eternity, she achieved the desired result _. You must needs get out of this bed... but how? There's something amiss with your mind; and it's such a soft bed, almost as soft as your bed back in Evenhall. It even smells like it._

She fell asleep, though this time, luckily, she did not dream. When next she woke, a woman leaned over her. She was older than Brienne, maybe of an age with her father. Her long brown hair was streaked with silver and tied in two thick three strand braids that fell about her front, brushing the floor between them. Her gray eyes were kind. They were the pale shade of gray the sky often took after a storm. Her gaze flickered to Brienne's face and the woman smiled.

"Good, you're alert. I can see you have questions, child." 

"I do." She had many, but she didn't trust the woman. 

The stranger shuffled through something in a large pocket in the front of her gown. She pulled a towel from it and wiped Brienne's brow. 

"Ask your questions." 

"Who are you? How did we come to be here" She thought of Podrick then. "Is he okay? He's my squire." Panic gripped her tightly. _He had to be okay. He just had to. This woman wouldn't have taken the trouble to bring a corpse. Father, let him be alive._

The woman touched her shoulder and her expression softened as a mother's would. "He is fine, only a little bruised." Brienne sighed in relief. "I am called Aisling. I'm a healer," she said, "and this," she gestured around them, "is my home. I found you and the lad whilst searching for cockles and mussels two mornings past."

"Okay," Brienne nodded, "where are we?" 

The woman shuffled through her pocket again. "The far eastern side of the Neck." She found what she searched for, leaves, and handed them to Brienne. "Chew these for your pain. Moat Caitlin lies nine days ride to the north." The leaves were sour, but she seemed to feel better the more she chewed. "The Trident is near a fortnight to the south. The Sisters are visible if you look east, to the sea." 

_The Sisters_. Brienne remembered Lady Sansa's screams as she was taken. _As I fell over a cliff. How am I alive?_

Aisling regarded her strangely. As if she had read her thoughts, the woman spoke. "I found you and the lad in an ocean pool. The Gods blessed the two of you to float facing skyward, and it was a shallow pool too when I came along, which was strange." She rubbed her chin with her thumb as she looked off in thought. "During the high time of the full moon, the entire beach is covered in sea. Surely you would have drifted…or sank, were it so." 

"Surely." Brienne breathed. _I could have died. I should be dead_. It was terror that gripped her now.

"But the Gods have other plans for you it seems." Aisling said lightly. "You've a touch of destiny about you, child." 

They were strange words from this strange woman. Brienne tried to rise again, but Aisling bent and placed a hand upon her chest. 

"You must rest."

She thought of Lady Sansa again, screaming her name from the cliff side. She thought of Ser Hyle and all that blood. _He fell. I must find him and bury him._

"I cannot," she said, "my lady was abducted." 

Aisling's look was firm. "I am aware."

Brienne was taken aback. She gasped. _How?_ Many explanations came to mind. _Had this woman something to do with the ambush?_ Brienne could feel rage bubbling within her and opened her mouth to speak, but Aisling spoke before she had chance. 

"I found your friend first. He told me who you were and what happened." The woman's eyes were sad. "You must rest now." She rose then, and left Brienne alone with the sleeping Podrick.

Time passed in a void of repetition. She was too weak to move, so she slept, for hours and hours it seemed, though each time she woke, the light from the window was always the same, cast upon the floor in the same small square. _Am I losing my mind?_ Her dreams were horrible things, and each one grew worse than the last. After three such slumbers, she awoke to find Podrick roused, sitting upon his bed, and drinking from a large wooden mug. 

Her heart leapt and she ignored the dizziness that washed over her as she sat up. 

"Pod." His name was a sob. Her vision blurred. "Pod, you're alright." _Thank you Father, Mother, Maiden. Thank you._

Podrick smiled sheepishly. "I'm okay." They sat in silence until, "we must needs rescue Lady Sansa, my lady." His eyes were fierce and he stared directly at her. 

Brienne's brows drew together. "My thoughts exactly."

Podrick nodded. "She, she said, she knew Littlefinger would send for, for her. She's back, at the Vale, in the Eryie, by now. Mayhaps we can sneak inside again. Like last time, but without Ser Jaime." 

Brienne couldn't help her smile. "You've already a plan. Good job, Pod. I think it's a fine idea." 

Podrick nodded again. "Alright, okay, my, my lady, ser." 

The days came and went, all unchanging. In the mornings, Aisling changed bandages and applied balms and gave soup and honeyed water. Brienne's arm burned, her face burned, and her head pounded mercilessly, but the pain and discomfort were nothing to her restless mind. _We have to go_ , she thought again and again, _we must leave and now. Littlefinger can do anything to her in retaliation for escaping. She's not safe. I must keep her safe. I swore an oath. Hang on, Lady Sansa. Be strong like your mother, I'll be there soon._

Hyle Hunt came on the fifty morning she counted. He looked horrible. He was pale and covered in dressing for what seemed to be half a hundred wounds. She saw his back first. The wrappings wound around his torso, and she could see the heavily applied shreds of fabric through his tunic. He looked at Podrick, standing over him for a time, before turning to Brienne once he heard her shift. 

She gasped when she saw his face. His left eye was covered in patch and wrapping. A long angry slash trailed from the bottom of his cheekbone upward, through the bandaged eye, to disappear into his brown hair. She didn't know what to say.

"How, how do you feel?" It seemed a silly question to ask.

He pursed his lips and walked before her bed. "I would be far better had you heeded my advice." He spat upon the floor. "I'd still have two eyes."

 _There is nothing I can say to fix that_. "I'm happy you're alive. I saw you fall back there and I, I thought you died. It frightened me." He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "You were a true knight and I am grateful." His face relaxed at her words. He sat on the edge of her bed as he spoke.

"Brienne, we can go-"

"I will not return to Tarth if that is what you are here to say." He narrowed his eyes. "Lady Sansa needs my help and I will not abandon her now." He opened his mouth, but she continued, uninterrupted. "You can come if you wish." She heard hope in her voice, strange as it was.

Hunt shook his head and exhaled in disbelief. "You must be mad to go after that girl again." 

"I told you ser, I swore an oath-" 

"I know about your oath, Brienne. That seems the only thing you can comprehend." 

"It is of great import, ser. I welcome you to continue with us, but if it please you, you can-" 

"Seven hells woman! Listen to me; you'll die if you keep this up. You, the boy, me, we'll all die. I'm down an eye already." Ser Hyle pointed to his bandaged eye. His mouth was a thin line. 

Brienne took a deep breath. "Lady Sansa is still out there. Littlefinger's men took her." 

"Aye, Littlefinger's men took her. He has a bloody army and we stole one of his prized possessions. It's a wonder he didn't find us sooner. Would have been better with the Kingslayer and his men. 'Lest we would've had a fight." 

Ser Hyle crossed his arms about his chest, but after a rather long moment, his expression softened. "Please, Brienne." 

"My oath isn't just to Lady Catelyn." She said quietly, looking at the pink glass of the window and twiddling at her hands.

"I'll marry you still." He reached out and lightly touched a few of her fingers. "Even though you fucked the Kingslayer-"

"Ser!" She snatched her hand away.

"You can't think there will be a life with him." 

She sat up straight on the bed. "What I do and with whom is naught-" 

"He left you Brienne. Left you to some fool's errand that will get you killed. I've been here. I'll stay here, with you. And whenever you decide to go home, I'll be there still. I've said as much already. I will marry you. I can give you halls full of children. You must needs return home. The best your Lannister can give you is a life raising his bastards in the shadow of the Red Keep. And from what I hear, I don't think the queen will allow such for long." 

Aisling came through the door as Brienne spoke; her calm words were said through a clinched jaw. "I swore an oath. You may leave as soon as you wish, ser." 

Ser Hyle rose to his feet and frowned down at her. His chest heaved with his rage. He held her gaze for a moment more before turning on his heels and heading out the door. Brienne took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. _Ser Jaime did not task me with a fool's errand. He wouldn't do that. He has faith in me. He gave me his sword. I can't let him down._

Aisling sat on her bed, much as Hyle had, and unraveled her medicine roll. She took out bandages and balms, and began to clean Brienne's wounds. Her gentle disposition and soft gray eyes reminded Brienne of statues of the Mother. 

"You're healing nicely. It shan't be long now." She wrapped Brienne's arm around a new splint and put a sweet smelling cream against the scarred skin of her ruined cheek. She gestured for Brienne to lift her tunic and rather reluctantly, Brienne did. She was nervous to show her body; too big arms, too large shoulders, _everything's too big_ ; but the woman was kind, and as she applied the sweet smelling cream to the various cuts and bruises about her chest and arms, Brienne's pain immediately soothed. 

_I was half ecstatic, half terrified, when Jamie lifted my tunic and tore apart my small clothes_. It took every ounce of her courage to stay there with him afterward, naked as her name day. 

"You don't talk very much, do you?" She eyed Brienne politely. She smiled in good nature.

Brienne shrugged. "I hadn't many to talk to while I was young." 

"But you're young still." The older woman laughed softly. Brienne liked her laugh. Lady Catelyn had a similar laugh. 

"I can talk with you if you'd like." Brienne gave the ghost of a smile with closed lips. 

The woman's eyes crinkled. "I'd like that." 

She resumed her task, though when she accidentally grazed a nipple, a hiss escaped Brienne's mouth. Her breasts have been very tender, ever since they reached the Kingsroad. Aisling's gaze turned pensive. 

"How long have your nipples been this large and dark? Do you know?" 

Brienne looked to her breasts. The buds were brownish, such as they were not before. It was strange. "I've been here nine days." Brienne tried to think through the haze and heartache of the past sennight. "We've been on the Kingsroad since the turn of the moon. I would say, little more than a fortnight." 

Quite suddenly, Aisling touched Brienne's abdomen. Her fingers were cold, and Brienne jumped a little. "Has your moon's blood been upon you recently?" 

"I-," Brienne thought about it. "No. My moon's blood visited me last just before the snows fell hard." 

"Hmmm." Aisling hummed as she rose from her chair beside Brienne's bed. She left the room without another word. 

The room looked as it had the last time Brienne woke: Pod was still in a cot by the wall with the door, there was one small table with a candle; and a window with pink glass; the house was made of neither stone nor wood, but earth she had learned, and the room was well warm, courtesy of the small fire in the center of it. Aisling returned with a cup. She stirred it once with a red twig and placed it in Brienne's hands. 

"Drink this." 

Brienne looked at her in surprise, in hesitance. She wasn't accustomed to drinking mysterious liquids, no matter how kind the eyes of a healer were. "What is this?" 

Aisling sat once more and smiled. "Do not fret." She grasped Brienne's hand gently. "It is a concoction of mother's root, dried purple plant, a pinch of the sea witch's flower, ground ginger fingers, golden turmeric from the Summer Isles, that one was hard to get. You'll drink this and I'll examine your urine after." 

"Examine my urine? That sounds ludicrous." 

"Aye. I will examine it and see what I find." 

Brienne drank the steaming cup without further complaint. It didn't taste as bad as she thought it would. Aisling sweetened it with wild honey. When time came for her to piss, she did so in a clear glass jar. Aisling left to examine it, such as she said she would, and returned after an hour. 

She gave Brienne a skin of water to drink. "What did you find in my piss?" 

Aisling sighed. She clasped her fingers together. "It seems you are with child." 

Brienne gasped. It was audible and she doubted she had ever made such a noise. "With child?" Her voice was so small, she can barely hear it. "How could that be? Are you certain?" 

The healer's eyebrows drew together and sympathy shone through the grays of her eyes. "I am quite certain. I have tansy flower and moon tea available if you so choose." 

"I-" Brienne couldn't wrap her head around Aisling's words. _It seems you are with child._ How could she be with child? Other women had children. She fashioned herself a knight. Knights don't battle upon the birthing bed. "I need to walk. I, I have to-" 

She was out of the bed and moving, running before she could register her direction. 

_It seems you are with child._

Brienne followed the sand patched road until the grass disappeared and she was before the sea. The mist was colder than sin and the roar of the waves crashing upon the shore swallowed her scream. It was high pitched; tore hot and stinging through her throat. 

_It seems you are with child_. 

A child grew within her. _Jaime's child_. She took him into her most private part and couldn't believe it when he touched her so. He was encouraging, told her to relax, and despite her sorrow, her shame, the impossibility of the situation, she didn't turn him away. She knew now that she could never deny him. The look in his eye, so green, so maddened, so understanding, made it so she wanted him more in that moment than ever she wanted him before. 

Brienne knew a madness gripped him. She knew his eyes, changed, resolved, belonged to a different man. A new man. He was not himself. And yet, she took him in and his seed quickened in her womb. She hadn't even thought of such consequence. The cycles of her moon's blood never were consistent; another failure of her womanhood, and so, if she missed one or two it made no matter. But when Jaime kissed her, in his rage, in his fury, her heart skipped eight beats. The wide world stood still when his lips met hers and his palm held her face. Brienne could scarcely believe it. A madness gripped him. She knew him enough to know he was away from his sister for too long. He was angry. His blood was up. And when a man's blood is up, he is not himself. She knew he would regret her touch the moment rationally found him anew, and yet she didn't stop him; not as his tongue coaxed her lips apart, not as his fingers found that spot that gives such sweet pleasure, not as he thrust himself, his member, into the place nary her fingers ventured. Brienne held fast to his madness and knew she would be fine when he came back to himself, so long as she had the memory of his folly; the memory of his love.

_It seems you are with child._

The sun shone silver along the horizon. Hidden by the clouds and fainted by the snow, its warmth was weak. She walked along the shore; her boots dry as she made prints in the wet sand. They were nice boots; fur lined and of fine leather. Jaime had the girl, Pia, bring her a pair of his own. For the first time in her life, Brienne felt small. This was bigger than herself and she needed some degree of comfort. She held her elbows lightly with her palms and hugged herself as she walked. She hoped Jaime would comfort her had he known, had he been on this beach with her, and couldn't stop herself from trying to think of the sun's warmth, of Jaime's warmth. He held her afterward. He held her until she rose from him. She didn't see madness in his eyes then, or rage. He seemed content. Relieved even. Mayhaps content because of the act and the release. Surely from no satisfaction with her. That would be impossible. He was away from his sister. A madness gripped him. Brienne caught a glance of her before she left King's Landing. His queen was stunning: dressed in green velvet, hair falling to her hips in thick golden waves. It was a strange thing to see his face on a woman. Stranger still to know he'd look glorious male or female. Brienne couldn't compare to the mother of his children. She wouldn't try. 

_It seems you are with child. I have tansy flower_... _moon tea_... _if you so choose._

She chewed on her lower lip. Jaime may be angry with her. She lost Lady Sansa after they found her together. She lost ground in fulfilling their oath. And she was with child now. Sometimes men became angry, she knew. He didn't ask for a child of her. He asked for her to find a child, not to grow one. 

_...tansy flower...moon tea...if you so choose..._

And yet, the child was innocent. And knights protected the innocent. And Brienne fashioned herself a knight. It would be a great dishonor to kill a child. She thought of her father, who had four children birthed, and one child living. One child who had brought him naught but heartache. He will be cross when he discovers. Yet and still, her father had no heir, no proper one to speak of. Brienne received no word of a new betrothal or marriage regarding the Evenstar. She could give this child to him to stand in her stead. He will be cross and may even yell for a time, but he would never turn her away. Her father would come back after a time, find her in her bed chamber or in the practice yard perhaps, and speak softly as he apologized and told her how to make the most of what's happened. She could hear him now. His eyes would crinkle as he smiled and shook his head. _And you told me you'll never be a mother._

She sniffed back tears. She missed him so. Her father was so kind, a good man if the Gods ever made one, and he deserved a normal child for his legacy; and Jaime's child would be one perfect for any house. She would be beautiful and gracious. He would be stronger than herself, a man to carry his line. Everything Brienne could not offer him. Brienne held her womb. _Jaime needs not know_. She was sure he wouldn't be interested anyway _. I_ _can give Father this babe_ , Brienne thought with resolve, _he can name it his and have a beauty to inherit the seat of our house, a much better option than myself. It wouldn't be a bastard. It will be a legacy._

Brienne clutched her cloak tightly around her as she headed back to Aisling and the warmth of her home. Podrick was awake and eating soup when she arrived. The woman smiled sadly as she looked at Brienne. 

"Have you made your decision?"

Brienne nodded. "I have. I will forgo tansy flower and moon tea, thank you. I will have this child." 

Podrick coughed loudly at Brienne's words. She turned to him as he stared at her, mouth agape in shock. It took awhile for him to regain his composure. "Ser, my lady?" 

"It's okay, Pod. We will have company for a time on our quest." 

The tops of the boy’s ears flushed red. "Of-you're, I, of course, my lady, ser." 

His eyes fell back to his soup and he ate the rest with great interest as Aisling told Brienne what she could expect in the time before birth. 

"Is your companion the father?" 

"Ser Hyle is not the sire, no." Brienne blushed slightly. 

"Very well. Do you wish for me to tell him? He told me you were to be wed."

"I-" Brienne sighed roughly. "We are not betrothed. I've rejected his advances many times." 

Aisling looked quite surprised. "Oh," she said, "I see. Very well. I do hope this doesn't cause you strife. Even with your size," her eyes flickered to Podrick, "and your companion, I believe his presence will be more than helpful on your journey." 

Brienne did know what to say. She twiddled her fingers. "Thank you." 

They stayed for three nights more before heading back toward the Vale. Each plan sounded more ridiculous than the last and by the time they made it to the Green Fork, Brienne knew their chances were slim to none. 

"My offer stands still, my lady. Abandon this foolishness. Travel with me to Tarth. Your bastard will be born true." 

Brienne pursed her lips. "I've an oath to keep, ser." 

"Aye. And by the looks of it, your child won't get to grow as the Kingslayer's bastard. It won't get to grow at all, since we'll die for you thrice damnable oath." 

Brienne's glare was sharp. "You can leave at your behest, ser." 

Ser Hyle sighed and shook his head. "What kind of knight would I be to leave the Mother of Tarth to her doom? I'll be almost as bad as your Kingslayer." 

"That is quite enough, ser. Ser Jaime is an honorable man and I will appreciate if you referred to him only as such!" She stopped walking. Her shout caused Pod to jump and Ser Hyle's eyes to widen in shock. 

"You're blinded by your love and your quest. All sense has fled you it seems. Still, I merely want you to live to see the birthing bed, my lady." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the ground. 

"My lady, ser, look." Podrick pointed to the remnants of houses. They were atop a hill and from their vantage point, could see the valley stretching out below. "There's sure to be a, a barn and mayhaps, perchance horses." 

She ignored Hunt and walked before Podrick as well. "Nice eye, Pod. Let us see what we can find." 

The day was still and without falling snow. There were no crows above the village, circling the clusters of shanty wooden cabins, which was a good sign. When they reached the hamlet, it was clearly abandoned and likely destroyed by the war, or worse. The corpses upon the ground were numerous, more bone than flesh, and half buried beneath mud and snow. The smell was not so strong and for that Brienne was grateful. Every structure they passed had doors torn asunder and the thatched roofs were caved in with gaping holes. Some were burnt. Others just knocked apart. By what manner of beast, Brienne couldn't say. It was a miracle they found the barn. 

Hunt stopped Podrick's hand as he moved to push the large doors open. 

"Hold on, boy. Are you trying to get us attacked?" 

"I, uh, the town's de-deserted, ser." He frowned in confusion.

Hyle drew his sword. "There's no way to be certain. Stand back." He opened one of the doors slowly, silently, and entered with Podrick in tow. Brienne took the rear with Oathkeeper in hand. They passed a wagon with a broken wheel and barrels upon barrels of pickled cabbage. When they approached the horse stalls, two young brown geldings whickered and bucked lively.

"Gods be good," Hyle said as he lowered his blade, "two horses. We can make use of that wagon as well."

Brienne moved about freely, knowing no threat lay inside the large wooden shelter. There were holes near the southern wall and in certain spots, the wooden planks of the enclosure were broken, kicked in it seemed. 

"I've found five bales of oats!" Podrick called from a far side of the barn. 

"Two sacks of carrots right here!" Hunt yelled down from the loft above them. 

Brienne quickly scanned the shelves she opened. Two were empty, but the last held something that was pushed back too far for the eye of a shorter person. She stood on the tips of her toes to grab it. 

" _Peaches._ " She said to herself with the slightest degree of mirth. "I've a jar of peaches." She announced louder.

She and Hyle held the wagon up while Podrick attached a new wheel. She connected the horses and they loaded the cart with their findings. The plan was simple. They were to gain entrance through the Bloody Gate disguised as smallfolk seeking refuge from the weather and the raiders. Hunt was to be a farmer; _the produce should be enough to pass the story off as true, you know_ , and Brienne and Podrick his sons. 

They found clothes after searching four cabins. She changed in one while her companions waited with horse and wagon. The air was cold and crisp, but before she pulled the newer tunic over head, she couldn't help grasping her abdomen _. A child_ , she thought as she rubbed the flat planes of her stomach _. I'll soon grow heavy and swollen with a child_. The thought still frightened her. Aisling told her more about birthing than Septa Roelle ever did; the sensation of fire and great pain and she could die at the end of it; die the death of a mother and not a warrior. Brienne didn't like the thought at all. 

It snowed the morning they reached the Blood Gate. This time, their journey through the Mountains of the Moon differed vastly from the time before. This time, the clansmen were silent and they'd no company except those of the chirping birds by day, and the howling of creatures by night. They agreed to light a fire after three nights of travel, as foolhardy as it was. They were but three, and injured at that, so if the Moon Clans sought to attack, they'd be no match, with or without a fire. The hills, the trees, and the rocks had eyes; eyes that watched, but luckily didn't move. 

The pass grew narrow as they made their way. Many times Brienne thought their horses would stumble and become lame, or that the wooden wheels of the wagon would twist and snap, though no such misfortune befell them. The battlements came before did sign of any knight. There was no guard along either side of the massive pass, when before there had been ten men armored in the sky-blue and white of House Arryn. The closer they approached, the easier she saw the faces of the men in the arrow slits of battlement, and bridge, and tower. When they climbed to the top, a knight stood from the parapet wall and yelled down at them. 

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" 

Hyle lowered his cowl and raised his head. "I am called Orrick, good ser, and am a cabbage farmer from near Lord Harroway's Town. Our village was put to torch by brigands. I've turnips and potatoes and two sons who wish to winter inside the refuge of the Vale of Arryn." 

The knight stepped back. After a moment, three knights met them ahorse and ordered them off the wagon, so their goods could be inspected. Brienne tried her best to go unnoticed. She hid her ruined cheek in the hood of her cowl and aimed to seem as a man in her silence. It wasn't too hard, for when the knights looked her over, they spared nary a glance. After what must have been a quarter hour, she grows anxious. _Surely they should be satisfied by now_. When the leader, mayhaps the new Knight of the Gate, grabbed a turnip and ushered the other men off, she relaxed. He addressed Hyle. 

"In the name of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East, I bid you enter freely, and charge you to keep his peace." 

"I swear it." 

"On you go farmer." 

"Thank you, ser." Hyle replied, flicking their horses' reins. For the second time in her life, Brienne rode through the shadow of the Bloody Gate and in no time at all, the stonework gave way to vast valleys of unmarked snow. The forests they passed were white and dead with winter; though he hamlets were rather alive with activity, which was strange, and after they passed the fifth such village, she could see the frozen waters of Alyssa's Tears disappearing into the heavens. 

Ser Hyle's mood lightened the closer they drew to the Eryie. _He wants a warm meal no doubt._ Over his shoulder, he called to Podrick as he steered their mounts. "Good plan, Pod."

The boy smiled. "Th,thank you, ser."

The village at the base of the Giant's Lance was in festival. Lanterns and ribbons festooned on strings across each roadway. Many people were out and about in the winter twilight when they arrived. Each inn was packed to the brim and bursting with patrons. It took them well over an hour to find an innkeep wiling to let them sleep in the stables. 

Hyle grumbled as they climbed from the back of the wagon. "Paying to sleep with bloody horses. This quest of yours grows more peculiar and undignifying by the day, sweet swordswench." 

Brienne rolled her eyes as she checked her boots. Luckily she kept some coin in them when they were attacked. "You can leave-" 

"Anytime I wish. I know." He pursed his lips and looked to Podrick. "Want to find some food that isn't pickled cabbage, Pod?" 

"I..," the boy looked at Brienne, uncertain. She gave her assent with a nod. "Sure, ser." 

"We'll be in the tap room if you care to join us." He walked off with her squire in tow.

 _He's still angry about that argument_. She huffed and kicked a mound of snow. _Why do I even allow him to travel with us?_ She couldn't think of an answer. _Would that Jaime had come...but Jaime's not here, so you must needs make your own way_. She touched her womb. _My own way_. After awhile, she came to a decision. 

Their wagon and food were as safe was they were going to be, hidden in that stable with the door locked, so instead of joining her allies for meat and mead, Brienne set out to town. She passed groups of drunkards and children running with sweets and maidens more beautiful than she could ever hope to be. The merriment died as she cut through alleys and grew closer to the outskirts of the village, closer to the castle. The drawbridge was down and the Gates of the Moon was as exuberant as the village. Brienne slipped in unnoticed. She found Mya Stone where last she saw her, tending to the donkeys in the mule pins. She was alone. The light from the sconces illuminated the stalls finely. She turned as she heard Brienne's bootstep. 

Her eyes were to the floor and her face was filled with grief. "My lady, I-," she gasped when she looked up. "Brienne?" She asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?" 

Brienne closed the distance between them and spoke lowly. "It's nice to see you again."

"You as well." 

"Why are there so many people here?" 

Mya shrugged. "You've not heard of the tourney, I take it. The festivities for the Brotherhood of Winged Knights had begun two days past." She looked to the floor again. "Knights and lords from all over the Vale have come to compete for a spot in the Lord Robert's eight."

Brienne touched her shoulder. "What's happened Mya? Surly you should be joyous. What of your beloved Mychel?" A tear fell down the girl's cheek. Brienne proceeded gently. "He's here I am certain. Are you still to be wed?" 

Mya took a step from her and hugged herself. She looked to the ground as she spoke. "He, he told me I am not his. He," she exhaled, "wed another." 

Brienne gasped. "Mya, I'm sorry." She thought of Jaime then. _He's not yours either. This will be you soon enough, though you'll have his bastard along with your broken heart._

Mya wiped her face. "There is no use going to the Eryie. Lady Sansa is not here." 

Brienne feared that outcome. "If not there, then where?" 

She shrugged. "I'm not certain, but Myranda says that Lord Petyr sent her to Winterfell. She said he married her to the lord there." 

"Winterfell?" Brienne was taken aback.

Mya nodded. "Yes, they left some time ago. She should have arrived by now." 

Brienne's mind was far away, thinking of plans and her next steps. She turned to go, a little too quickly and almost fell. "Thank you, Mya. I must leave, lots of ground to-" 

She stopped when Mya grabbed her forearm. "Are you alright?" She eyed her strangely. 

"What?" Brienne's brows drew together. "I, uh, yes, of course I'm okay." 

Mya frowned somewhat. "You look different." She narrowed her eyes, examining her. "Are you...with child?" 

Brienne gasped. "How," she breathed, "how can you know?" 

"You've touched your breasts twelve times since we've started talking, and your face is rounder than it had been when last I saw you." She titled her head to the right everso slightly. "I've known many waiting mothers in my life. You've got all the signs." She smiled and her eyes were so sad. "Do you love him?" 

Brienne smiled her own sad smile. "Seven save me, I do." 

Her blue eyes brightened, if only a little. "You're a highborn lady. The Gods may yet smile upon your love." 

Brienne shook her head. “The Gods have been cruel my entire life, I don't suppose that will change now." She stepped back in the direction of the exit, "I really must go." 

"Okay, but I am coming with you." 

"What?" 

"Mychel," she clenched her jaw,"competes on the morrow. I ushered he and his lady wife up the mountain myself. There's," she took a deep breath, “there’s no longer a place for me here." 

"Mya you can't-"

The girl shook her head, short strands of black hair moving about her face. "Winterfell seems as good a place as any." 

"Okay." Brienne grasped her shoulder again. "I'm grateful for any help you give."

Podrick and Ser Hyle were in the tap room when she returned. Hyle talked the innkeep into renting them a room, though just the one, and he seemed rather pleased with himself at the news. 

"That was very clever of you Ser Hyle." He was drunk and his cheeks were slightly flushed. 

"Well, there are some things I can do." He said bitterly before drinking more of the cloved ale. 

Podrick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after taking a gulp from his own cup. "Do you wish to have the bed, ser, I, I mean, my lady?" Hyle's eyes widened and he put his cup upon the table with a thud. She could see his displeasure mounting, as his inebriated mind processed her squire's words. She smiled and spoke before he did. "That's very gallant of you, Pod. We can share. You'll sleep between us." 

She left the common room before Hyle Hunt did and Podrick followed close behind. Their room was small, with a high slit in the ceiling for a window and no place for a fire. Though there was a basin, and the straw mattress smelled of pine needles. She took off her boots and hung Oathkeeper from the bed post nearest herself. 

"Looks like sleeping close together is a good idea indeed, Pod. We won't be terribly cold when it starts to snow in the night." 

He met her smile with his own. "Not so cold ser, my lady."

She bundled under her cloak. "Sleep well, Pod." 

"You as well, my lady." 

She was on Tarth and there was not a cloud in the sky. The sun shone white and yellow from on high. As she walked along the beach, the warm sand shifted under and over her toes in a lovely embrace. Brienne saw the cliff with the sentinels to her left and the cove with the starfish just beyond it. She was near the best place to find conch shells. The more she walked, the hotter the sun became upon her back, and her thin tunic was no match for the heat, but it was of no matter, because the cool water rushed in waves around her ankles now, ebbing and flowing, leaving suds in its wake, and for a moment she was as happy she'd ever been. 

She closed her eyes and lifted her head up to the sky. The air was salty and perfect, and the breeze was crisp upon her warm face. Brienne heard splashing to her right and turned to look. Not a yard away was Jaime and a boy, no older than three. The child was dressed in a thin blue tunic much like her own and black breeches that bunched up at the knee. They held hands and ran back up the beach a little ways, the child screaming in delight, as the waves rushed to meet them. Jaime laughed one of his hearty laughs and turned to her. The sunlight gleamed in his hair, causing the gold to shine, and his smile was dazzling, making Brienne's heart leap to her throat. 

The boy poked his head around Jaime in the next moment, and ran to Brienne, golden curls bouncing about his face, shining with the light. 

"Mother!" He screamed, arms wide, smile wider. She caught him and held him close before he pushed back. "Did you see?!" He asked excitedly, ready to burst. "Did you see?! It almost got us!" 

Brienne didn't know what to say. "I saw you run. You, did very well." 

The child's smile was contagious and his eyes were alight as only a child's could be. They were large and innocent and deep blue, blue like her own, blue like her father's. 

"I saw." She repeated, brushing a ringlet of hair from his face. "I saw."

She woke to Podrick shaking her arm. "Time to go." Hunt said as he pulled on his boots. Brienne sighed and buried her face in her cloak, if only for an instant, to hide her smile. _It was such a lovely dream._

Mya met them at the inn. They broke their fast on honey cakes and turkey sausages. She was surprised by Ser Hyle's lack of eye, but was polite enough not to stare. He was in a foul mood, the effects of the previous night’s drink, and went about his morn uncharacteristically silent. 

One of Mya's friends, an old man, sold them two horses to go with their geldings, a mare and a stallion, for no more than twelve coppers. It was very generous and Brienne couldn't believe their good fortune. He kissed Mya upon the cheek as he fared her well and told her to come back before he dies. 

They passed the Bloody Gates before evenfall and as the sun began to sink low, making the sky blush pink and red and orange, Mya told them she knew the safest way through the Mountains of the Moon. They made camp just before the sunset. The cave was small and warm, out of sight from roads and in the line of the moon's glow. Podrick helped Mya build a fire in the middle of their circle and as Brienne cut potatoes for their supper, Hunt came to sit beside her. 

"It's not too late to turn back, you know." He grabbed one of the chunks of carrot from her pot and chewed noisily. 

Brienne frowned in irritation. "We will be upon the kingsroad soon, ser. I'll have you know that it leads two ways." He took another carrot. "I am going north. You can ride south if-"

"- it suits me. I know, Brienne." He smirked and shook his head and went to help with the fire. 

A light snow fell, piling around the mouth of their cave. She went to clear it some and when she stepped outside, her eyelashes caught the crystal flakes. It made her think of Winterfell and all she'd ever heard of the north _. I'll wager that it snows more there than it does in the Vale...and the Vale had towers of ice and rivers of snow_. She frowned at the bright, white moon. _Are you warm Lady Sansa? Are you safe? Hang on, my lady. Be strong like your mother, I'll be there soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the second day of November and the weather is finally starting to cool in my part of the world (Los Angeles), thank the Gods! Thank you for reading. Up next is our favorite mad queen.


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